


Triggers

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Reconstruction [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, If You Squint - Freeform, Medical Procedures, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Slow Build, Wakanda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-12 20:16:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7947577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <img/>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Because she interests you?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Interest. That was probably the word for it. "She was there," Bucky said, which didn't explain anything. Or maybe explained everything. "She knows."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Steve seemed to understand. "You know, too. Maybe you should be friends. Might be good for both of you."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>"Compare scars?"</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He shrugged. "Make some kind of peace with the past."</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Peace. He'd given up on peace a long time ago. It always ends in a fight, he'd told Steve back in Bucharest. And he'd been proven rather horribly right. Still, that was then and this was now. He hadn't been in danger since he'd woken up here. Maybe peace was possible.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Bucky and Amanda's story! Yay! The reaction when we revealed she was coming was so sweet, thank you all for loving her as much as I do.
> 
> This story does deal a bit with coping with PTSD and recovering from abuse. Almost nothing is described in detail and I will put up warnings on any chapters that do have conversations about it.
> 
> Neither of us are doctors, so the medical stuff that we talk about in this and other chapters is based on our best research and understanding. I know medical knowledge is always changing so the information could be out of date but I did my best and don't believe anything is outrageously impossible.

When Amanda Newbury was a little girl she liked to climb trees.

Her little sister, Becca, always wanted to make it a competition. Which of them could climb higher, reach the farthest branches. It earned her a lot of bumps and bruises and one broken arm, but the competitiveness never waned.

Amanda didn’t want to race, or always go higher. She was looking for peace, and in a tree, peace could be found just a few feet up. There was a red oak in her backyard growing up. It had been old and gnarled, the trunk twice too big for her to wrap her arms around. The branches had begun only three or four feet off the ground, the thinnest as thick as her leg. About nine feet up, on the northern side of the tree, two branches had grown intertwined, forming a cradle that had been just perfect for her to lay in.

She’d stay up there for hours, buried in the branches. In the fall the leaves would turn brilliant red and she’d pretend she was a witch who could control fire, or a princess in a high tower. She would go there to escape crying babies and angry parents. Later, she would go there to think or to cry. By high school she was too tall and gangly to fit in the cradle any more and she’d decided the was too old for tree climbing.

In twenty years she’d never found anywhere as peaceful and calm to think. Until she came to Wakanda.

The king had given her a room in the guest palace, in the same wing as the fugitive Avengers. It was a short walk to the medical research labs, also on royal grounds. The bed was larger than anything she’d ever slept on and the little cabin she’d lived in in Maine would have fit in the room with space to spare.

Down the hall from her bedroom was a sitting room she’d been told was rarely used. She’d taken it over as an office. It was where she’d set up her computer and the desks and tables were covered with books and studies on neurology. And on one wall there were french doors leading out to a little balcony.

The palace was built into the base of a mountain. Good strategy, easy to defend. According to T’Challa, the king of Wakanda had lived in roughly this spot for over two centuries. Amanda believed it. There were ruins of old buildings on the grounds, as well as statues and carvings that had to be at least that old. Including a rather massive carved panther head that thrust out from the cliffside down and to the right of her balcony.

The head was at least eight or nine feet across. She could stretch both arms out and not touch the edges. A stroll around the grounds had proved the face was rather vicious, caught in a mid snarl. But the top of it was smooth and weather worn, sloped slightly to give the impression of a neck.

It was the perfect place to think. The jungle spread out below her, the castle looming above. Early in the morning and late in the evening fog twined around the mountain and it was like laying in the clouds. It was like her red oak all over again, a quiet refuge from a world that was more often than not completely overwhelming.

“Are you supposed to be out there?”

She opened her eyes, squinting up at the balcony. Sharon Carter was leaning over the rail, expression bemused. If Sharon was here something was probably urgent. “Is something wrong?”

“Netiri called from the lab. Said you should come see something.”

That sounded urgent. Amanda sat up, then carefully got to her feet. “To answer your question, I’ve been assured that while the panthers and other totem animals are revered in Wakandan culture, they aren’t considered sacred.” Walking to the base of the panther head, she reached up and grabbed the rail of the balcony. Sharon stepped back and Amanda put a foot on the cliff face and pulled herself up and over.

When she was firmly on the ground again, she continued, “According to Netiri, it’s common practice to commune with them during meditation.”

“Is that was you were doing? Meditating?”

“Not really.”

They headed inside through her office and out into the main hall. When the reached the staircase that would take them to the side door, Sharon spoke again. “So my next question is why?”

She sounded sincerely interested so Amanda replied, “Adrenaline and cortisol.”

Sharon’s brows went up. “Stress hormones?”

“Fear hormones. Released by the adrenal gland. Responsible for the fight or flight reflex. There’s some research that suggests small amounts of the hormones can help jump start problem solving.” Guards flanked the base of the stairs and she and Sharon nodded to them as they passed. “The same chemicals that let you spot a hole in the rocks you can hide from the tiger could also help you see the solution to a more intellectual problem.”

More guards held the east wing doors open for them and Sharon stepped back to let Amanda go first. “You’re stuck on something?”

“I’m not precisely stuck.” It was warmer on the ground than it had been higher up the mountain. She started picking her way down the path that would take them to the medical labs. “I have the nucleus of a solution. Netiri and the others agree it’s viable.”

Surprise made Sharon falter a little. “Then what’s the problem?”

“I don’t like the solution.” She shoved her hands into her pockets. “I want to find another one.”

Sharon was quiet as they hiked down the path. “There’s no rush, you know. I mean, I’m sure Bucky would rather be out of cryo while Steve’s still young but. . . you don’t have to have an answer today.” Amanda didn’t reply and Sharon added gently, “Nothing bad will happen if it takes you time.”

Hunching her shoulders, Amanda refused to look at her or answer. Because, of course, she was feeling a sense of urgency to her work. Some of it, she liked to think, was altruistic. There was a man stuck in suspended animation counting on her to help fix his brain. It did make a person want to be efficient in their work.

But Sharon was very insightful. Given the fact she was the one who had connected the dots and found Amanda, she probably had the best idea what she’d gone through. Over her years as a captive of Hydra, Amanda had grown used to short, unreasonable deadlines and swift painful consequences for failure. Despite two years of freedom she hadn’t stopped flinching in anticipation of a blow.

“So did it work?” Sharon asked before Amanda could get too deep into her dark thoughts.

“No,” Amanda said. “Among other things the human body is very adaptive, especially to hormones and other chemicals. It’s why drug addicts need bigger hits and extreme sports enthusiasts reach for greater heights. It also, apparently, works for fear hormones.”

Sharon stared at her. “You were laying on a rock fifty feet in the air. Are you saying you weren’t afraid? Even on a gut level?”

The research lab was now in sight and Amanda quickened her step. “I was afraid, to one degree or another, every day for years. After that, a little rock climbing doesn’t rate.”

Sharon didn’t reply, yanking the lab door open and holding it for her. The room where they were monitoring Sergeant Barnes was at the back of the second floor, behind two layers of security. She and Sharon were both cleared, so they went through without a problem.

Netiri was waiting for them. She was the head of research here, a lovely, austere woman with long limbs. Amanda could easily picture her on a catwalk, showing off the latest fashions. That she was also brilliant seemed almost unfair. Amanda had been hesitant when they met, expecting her to resent the intrusion onto her group. But she had been welcoming, if cautious of foreign newcomers, and they’d worked well together on the problem that was Sergeant Barnes’s brain.

She held out a clipboard as they reached her. “Barnes’s most recent readings.”

Amanda scanned them, then frowned. “Did you check the machine? Make sure the connections were working?”

“Yep. Had a tech come in and do a full diagnostic, then re-ran the readings. Identical. They’re both there.”

“Is something wrong?” Sharon asked as Amanda flipped back and forth through the papers. “Should I get Steve?”

“I don’t know if it’s wrong,” Amanda said slowly. “But Sergeant Barnes is experiencing higher levels of brain activity than normal.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s dreaming,” Netiri said.

Sharon looked from one to the other. “And that’s not normal?”

“Some brain activity is normal,” Amanda told her, lowering the clipboard. “No brain activity means no life. Even in stasis his brain is functioning. But levels like this, as Netiri said, are closer to active dreaming. That shouldn’t be possible in cryo.”

“So he’s waking up?” Sharon crossed her arms and looked from one to the other. “How is that possible?”

Amanda met Netiri’s gaze a moment and had a silent conversation. “As I said earlier, the human body can adapt to almost anything. It’s possible Sergeant Barnes has begun to adapt to the cryo here and is fighting against it.”

“Did this ever happen at Hydra?” Netiri asked.

“Not to my knowledge. But the stasis they had him in was far deeper and more aggressive than the one used here.”

Netiri frowned. “I hesitated to put him deeper, especially considering how much we didn’t know about his brain. With deeper cryo you risk cognitive degeneration.”

And that, among many other reasons, was why she liked Netiri. “For what it’s worth, I agree. If his body is rejecting cryo we should bring him out of it.”

The other doctor sucked her teeth. “It would be an opportunity to begin the treatment plan you proposed.” Amanda sighed but before she could speak Netiri pressed on. “I know you wanted to find some other way, but the science is sound. And we are far kinder than Hydra.”

Amanda rubbed at her eyes, finger tips brushing along the line of her scar. “He’s in no danger of waking up tonight. Let’s have a meeting with Captain Rogers and His Highness. Present the plan and get their opinions.” She looked at Sharon. “Yours as well, of course.”

She nodded. “I’ll get Steve and T’Challa. Is there somewhere here we can meet?”

“Conference room downstairs,” Netiri confirmed.

“Meet you there in an hour.” She gave them both an officious little nod before striding off.

Amanda would have liked more time to prepare. Perhaps whip together some slides. Diagrams, timelines. Something she could look at and ground herself. Data was comforting. Talking in front of people was not.

Clearly reading something on her face, Netiri said quietly, “I’ll explain what I can but this is your brain child.”

“I know.” She looked down at the clipboard she was still holding. The numbers were the same as they had been. “I’m going to go down to the conference room. Start writing some notes, get my head together. Send someone for me if there’s a problem.”

She made her way downstairs to the big, well lit conference room with a table that could probably fit twenty people. One wall was white board and another windows, so she’d have plenty of space to draw if her audience did need visual aids. She found a seat near one end of the table and pulled out a notebook, intending to jot down some talking points. Instead, she found herself staring out the windows, words refusing to come.

Steve Rogers made her nervous.

There was nothing logical about it. He had been kind and considerate from the moment they had met. Held doors open for her and called her “ma’am” and “Doctor.” Part of it certainly had to be because she was his last best chance at having his friend back. But mostly he seemed to be just generally a nice man. Rare as hen’s teeth, her grandmother would have said.

But still, he made her nervous. Caused those elusive fear hormones to release when actual danger would not. Some of it was physical. He was big and strong and men like that had hurt her on a regular basis for seven years. But there were other big strong men in the palace that didn’t cause the same reaction. Sam Wilson was strong and she found his presence pleasant, bordering on soothing. Clint Barton was pretty much a set of biceps on legs but he usually had a baby strapped to his chest or a child dangling off his back, so it was hard to be scared of him.

If she had to guess, she thought it had something to do with the air of military authority Rogers gave off. A week or two after arriving she’d overheard him working with some of the Wakandan warriors. The words hadn’t been clear, but the tone was enough to tighten her skin and make her heart pound. And despite his consistently gentle treatment of her, the memory of that rose every time he spoke to her.

Among the books and files and research scattered around her office there were papers on PTSD, which she was confident she had. The symptom list read like a checklist of her life. Nightmares, anxiety, mistrust, detachment, obtrusive thoughts. Throwing herself into work helped alleviate some of it. Discovering the panther head had given her a safe place to go when it got overwhelming. But the doctor in her knew she was avoiding it and that was almost certainly going to end poorly.

Logic - and psychological treatment standards - indicated she should expose herself to things that triggered her. If Steve Rogers caused her stress, she should spend more time around him until that stress gradually decreased. She had not yet thought of a way to do that without telling him she was afraid of him. She knew enough about him to know he’d be upset by that.

She was able to settle herself enough to gather her thoughts and figure out how to explain her treatment plan. When the rest of them filed in she was standing at the whiteboard, doodling. Her skin prickled but she forced herself to be still and quiet as they took their seats behind her. When the rustling and shifting had stopped she took a deep breath, gave herself a silent pep talk and started her speech.

“This is your brain,” she said. pointing to the rough sketch she’d drawn. “And these are neurons.” She drew a few dots inside the outline. “When we make a longterm memory these neurons form new physical connections and synapses with each other.” She connected two dots with a line and drew over it several times to make it dark. “As far as your brain is concerned memory is as physical as it is mental.”

She paused briefly, but no one asked a question, so she pressed forward. “When Hydra was forming the triggers in Sergeant Barnes they would shock him, momentarily short circuiting the neurons in his brain. They would then repeat the trigger words and expose him to images representing the behavior they wanted to attach to said words. The connections built between neurons were focused only on those words and actions.”

Capping her pen, she turned to face them, found four people watching her intently and faltered a little. She fiddled with the pen cap and took a breath. “The triggers are psychological, but they are also physiological. Scars on his brain. If you want to disarm the triggers the best way is to reroute the neural pathways.” She swiped a finger through one of the lines she’d drawn, erasing the ink. 

"You want to shock him?" Steve asked quietly.

She rubbed her arm and directed her answer to a spot on the table in front of him. "Not the way they did it. Electroconvulsive therapy is used in treatment of depression and bipolar disorder. It's noninvasive and, if done ethically, painless."

"He would be given a muscle relaxant," Netiri spoke up, obviously reading her discomfort. "And a mild sedative. Usually ECT is done with an unconscious patient but Dr. Newbury believes Sergeant Barnes should be awake."

"The goal is to break the trigger," Amanda said, bolstered by the backup. "Rewrite the neural path. We would partially trigger him, say three or four of the phrase words so that the correct synapses are firing. Then the ECT pulse would disrupt them. After a few rounds the paths should rewrite, diffusing the trigger. Then we'd start on the next trigger phrase."

"Sergeant Barnes would be monitored at all times and given several days between each treatment to recover."

"Could it backfire?" T'Challa asked. "Make him worse? Cause him to go on another rampage?"

She and Netiri exchanged a glance. "Not if done correctly," Netiri said finally. "If we're understanding the triggers correctly, the entire sequence must be used before the Winter Soldier programming is activated."

Amanda nodded. "I saw several triggers used when I was . . . there. The change occurs at the end of the sequence. Up until the final word is spoken he is still in control. We would never say more than half the phrase. Enough to fire up the neural pathways, but not enough to complete the circuit."

"We'll have to wake him up and ask him," Steve said.

Relief loosened some of the tension in her shoulders. Netiri gave her a smile. "We can begin that process immediately."

"I say we do it." He looked over at the King and raised an eyebrow.

T'Challa steepled his hands, considering a moment. "I agree. The theory seems sound."

Steve looked over at her. "Can I be there?"

She forced herself to meet his gaze. "I was going to suggest it. The more comfortable the experience, the more likely it will be successful."

He smiled disarmingly. "Just tell me where and when."

A nice man smiling at her should not cause flutters of panic. Intellectually, she knew this. Her adrenal gland didn't seem to agree. She glanced away, rubbing her arm again.

Clearing her throat, Netiri stood. "We'll start with getting him out of cryo, Given his recent readings I suspect it will only take a few hours."

"We should find him somewhere comfortable to wake up," Amanda said, happy for this distraction. "Not the hospital."

"I'll have a room made up in the guest wing," T'Challa offered.

"Thank you," Steve said. "I can help with transport."

The king nodded and stood. "It's good to have a plan. Please, let me know if there's anything I can do to help. Any of you," he added, directing it at Amanda and Netiri.

He headed for the door and Netiri touched Amanda's arm. "If you can coordinate Sergeant Barnes's, uh, resuscitation, I'll start working with our staff on the ECT treatment."

It made sense. She was the one with experience on getting him out of stasis. Still, she'd hoped for a little down time to regroup. Maybe barreling ahead was better. No time to think. "I'll handle it."

Steve came and stood in front of her. Loomed over her, really. "How can I help?"

Her brain froze, like a flooded engine. Netiri had gone and he was between her and the door. Her fight or flight instinct was so warped now she wanted to do both and neither all at the same time.

Closing her eyes, she pictured the jungle beneath her panther and said, "He's upstairs, in a locked lab. I'll go and begin the process. It'll take an hour or so before I can get him out of the pod. If you can make sure his room in the palace is ready in that time, we can bring him over on a gurney." Swallowing hard, she added, "Another strong guy to help with that would be useful."

He nodded. "Okay. I'll get help."

"Meet me in the lobby in an hour and we can move him over." There. A whole conversation and nothing bad happened. Her heart could stop pounding anytime.

He gave her a nod, and then he turned and left. He stopped at the door to look over his shoulder. "Thank you," he said sincerely.

Somehow, she summoned what she hoped was a sincere smile. "You're welcome."

He ducked his head in an almost-shy nod, then left.

Unlocking her knees, she yanked a chair out and sank into it, hands shaking. She breathed through her nose for a few minutes, until her heartbeat had calmed and the panic attack had passed. When she was sure she wasn't going to vomit or faint, she slowly stood and tucked the chair back in. Then she went upstairs to start waking up Barnes.


	2. Chapter 2

Scent was always the first sense to return. Long before Bucky could open his eyes or make out voices, he could smell his surroundings. Usually, it was clinical. Bleach, detergent, antiseptic. Sometimes it was damp mold and old stone. The leather of restraints. It had never, in all the memories of waking up he could access, been tropical flowers.

Until now.

He was still processing that when sound started to filter in. Voices. The beep of a machine. Footsteps on carpet. In the distance there were slamming doors and beyond that what sounded like birds.

Touch came next. He wasn't naked on a metal table but dressed, under soft sheets.

That was around the time he remembered. Steve. Wakanda. He'd chosen to go back under, until his brain could be fixed. Now he was waking up, so presumably there was a way. He wondered how long it had been, if Steve was one of the voices he heard.

When he finally got his eyes open, there was a strange woman in his room. A white woman, not something he'd expect to see here. He frowned at her. She didn't notice he was awake immediately, studying the read out on some monitor or another. There was something vaguely familiar about her. When she turned her saw the scar on her face and it clicked.

She'd been his doctor at Hydra.

He lurched towards her and she jumped away, slamming her back against the opposite wall. His head spun and he had to catch himself against the wall. "What are you doing here?" he asked. It wasn't until the words were out that he realized he'd said them in Russian.

She held her hands up, palm out. "Trying to help you," she replied, also in Russian. She still had a terrible accent.

The door to the room opened with a crack and Steve, his girl, and several Wakadans spilled in.

He backed away, from all of them. "Why is she here?"

"She's helping us," Steve said, holding out a placating hand. "To find a way to get rid of your triggers."

"She was _there_. Before."

"Hydra forced her. She was a prisoner." He glanced her way. "They tortured her so she'd do what they asked."

Bucky sucked in a breath and let it out slowly, then looked back at the doctor. "I broke your arm."

Her right arm crossed to wrap around her left. He had a sudden, sickening memory of those bones snapping under his metal fingers. "You did," she said quietly.

"I thought you were one of them." It made a certain sick sense, and answered one of the questions he'd been turning over before everything went down—which is how they managed to convince clearly very talented scientists and doctors to do something that evil.

"It was a long time ago." She cleared her throat. "My name is Amanda. I wrote papers about medical uses of the soldier serum. After med school I joined SHIELD hoping to gain access to Erskine's files. And Hydra. . . found me."

Very slowly, he sat on the edge of the bed. The tension in the room noticeably lowered. "Why are you helping me?"

Her fingers tightened and relaxed on her arm and she glanced at the others a moment before looking back at him. "However unwillingly, I helped hurt you. I'd like to fix that." Her throat worked. "People shouldn't have off switches."

"Off wouldn't be as bad," he replied. "I wouldn't hurt anyone if I was off."

"If our plan works, you won't hurt anyone anymore." She peeled her hand up to gesture at his arm. "Is it all right if I take your IV out? You should eat something, get some fluids in you. It will help you wake up."

He'd barely registered the needle in his arm. It was SOP for waking up to have thing sticking out of him. With a nod, he held his arm out and she stepped away from the wall, gathering up some cotton pads and tape from a table. She moved to his side and started fiddling with the IV. Bucky watched her a moment, then looked past her at Steve. And the blonde woman next to him. "You went and found her."

"Seemed the right thing to do," Steve replied. Sharon smiled, they exchanged a look. Clearly the kissing had continued.

"Hi," he directed at her.

She smiled widely. "Nice to see you again, Bucky."

The doctor - Amanda - stepped away and he looked down to see a little pad of cotton taped to the crook of his arm. He hadn't felt a thing.

"You're very good at your job," he said. It was an observation more than a compliment.

"I used to be better." She puttered with something on her little tray of equipment. "I've already talked to the kitchen and they have a list of stuff you can eat that will be easy on your system."

His wake ups usually involved a cold shower and some electrocution. Bandaids and food was definitely a step up. "And then you'll tell me how you're going to fix me."

Her hands fisted and relaxed. "If you like."

"They never told me anything they were doing to me. They just did it."

"I know. I remember." She looked over at him, met his eyes briefly. "I'll explain."

"Thank you."

She nodded and Sharon stepped forward. "Come on. Steve and I will take you to lunch. Catch you up on the last few months."

"So you two are definitely a thing now?" he asked as he stood.

"We definitely are," Steve confirmed. "You may commence teasing."

"Might need to wake up a little more, first." Everything felt stiff and unused. But he was hungry, so the promise of food kept him moving.

"We'll get you food and coffee. Coffee here is great," Steve told him. "It's good to see you."

"Thanks. You too." They walked three abreast down the hall. "How long was I under?"

"Seven months," Steve said. "We had to find the doc, then she had to solve the problem."

"I thought it would be longer. When I went under." He'd had dark thoughts of Steve being old and grey when they finally had answers. They did seem to have a growing history of just missing each other. He looked at Sharon. "You found her."

"I did. I'm good at that kind of thing."

"You found me."

She looked surprised, but nodded. "And I sent Steve to you."

"I'd have killed those soldiers if he hadn't been there. And then I think T'Challa would have killed me. So thank you."

"You're very welcome."

"Thanks for the gear, too."

"No one should go to war in a henley."

"Steve went to war in a stage costume," he told her. "It had tights. Did the tights make it into the history books?"

"They _did_ ," Sharon assured him as Steve put a hand over his eyes. "They made a Captain America Ken Doll when I was in high school. It had tights."

He sighed dramatically. "I missed so much."

"It is now my mission to get you that doll."

"I'm so happy you two are getting along," Steve muttered.

Despite the face, he _was_ happy. Bucky could tell. Steve wanted him to get along with his girl. Much as he had always wanted his to get along with Steve. They'd reached the dining room, and food was already on the table. He was suddenly starving, and sat down to dig in.

It was mostly bland and starchy, but it was real food and the company was good. Steve told him about breaking the rest of the team out of the prison they'd been put into, with the help of the redheaded agent he'd shot twice and some shrink who'd switched sides when she'd seen how they were treated.

"She came to Wakanda with us," Steve said. Bucky had eaten three plates worth and was sipping coffee. "We're taking up most of the guest palace at this point."

"How mad are the other governments?"

Sharon whistled, which was probably answer enough. "I think the fact they know we're here but can't do anything is especially frustrating," Steve said.

"I don't think anyone knows you're here," Sharon offered. "At least not that I've found. Steve and the others, yes. But they seem to think you've gone aground. Or died in Siberia."

"I suppose that will change once I'm out walking around."

"Probably."

Steve rolled his coffee cup between his palms. "T'Challa seems pretty serious about keeping us all safe. His tech and the vibranium are a pretty big poker chip."

"The Wakandan IS is also working on getting the truth out about Zemo and everything. It will help."

"Doesn't help any about all the other shit I did."

"That wasn't you," Steve protested immediately and predictably. It was good to hear it, even if it probably didn't matter.

"I'm hoping the more information we leak the more people will be sympathetic to you," Sharon said, putting a hand on Steve's back and rubbing in circles.

"I can't blame them for wanting to lock me up. The whole thing is such a mess."

Steve opened his mouth to be comforting again but Sharon interrupted him. "Don't worry about the rest of the world. We're safe as we can be here. And _here_ is full of nothing but people who want to help you."

Bucky looked at her a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

"She's good at that." Steve was giving her a very sappy look. "Putting things in perspective."

"You guys are really adorable." He made an effort to say it without any jealousy or ire. Steve was happy and that was a rare thing, always had been.

Clearly it worked, because Sharon was smiling. "And we don't even try."

A woman came up to the table. Bucky recognized her from before he went into cryo. Sharon and Steve both smiled at her. "We're ready to discuss the treatment with you," she said. "Whenever you're ready. Dr. Newbury thought going to the medical building would be uncomfortable for Sergeant Barnes so she's offered her office for the conversation."

"That sounds really nice, thank you." She smiled and inclined her head, then walked off.

 "You want us to come?" Steve asked. "Or at least me? Though I'll warn you Newbury doesn't like me."

Sharon sighed. "I really think you're taking that too personally."

"I'm not taking it personally. I'm just confused."

Bucky's brow furrowed. "She doesn't like Steve?"

"I think she's scared of him," Sharon said as they gathered up their stuff to go. "She's nervous around a lot of men here."

"I'm not a scary person," Steve said. "At least I don't think I am."

"You're big," Bucky said. "And a leader. Guy like you would have been a handler in Hydra. In charge of a team."

He sighed. "Maybe I should just stay out of the way, then."

He felt bad, Steve wasn't used to being disliked. And he wasn't, to your average person, scary. But he sympathized with the doctor, too. He knew first hand what Hydra would do to get someone to do what they wanted.

Sharon rubbed Steve's back. "Maybe it's good if Bucky goes alone. We already know what she's going to say. And we can go grab some stuff to get his room set up. Clothes and toiletries and stuff." She looked at Bucky. "If that's okay."

"That'll be good, thanks." He didn't say it, because he didn't want to hurt any feelings. . . but a couple of minutes alone, just to walk down a hallway even, would actually be rather nice.

Maybe Sharon knew. Maybe she was just worried about Steve and wanted _him_ to have a moment to breathe. But she gave Bucky a knowing smile. "Amanda's office is down there, take a left and it's the third door to the left. If you hit the east stairs you've gone too far." He nodded and she tugged Steve's arm to lead him a different way. He waved a little and headed in the direction she'd instructed.

The palace was big and open and airy. It was nice. He'd spent a lot of his time on the run in tiny apartments and dark buildings. He passed a few people - household staff, mostly - and while he got a few looks no one stared and stopped him. He felt almost normal for a few moments.

He found the office easily. Newbury was there, as was the Wakandan doctor who'd come to tell him they were ready. There was also a slim Asian woman in a wheel chair. He didn't recognize her.

"Sergeant Barnes," she said. "We haven't met." She rolled a little closer and held out a hand. "I'm Lani Yee. I was a psychologist with SHIELD. I, uh, helped Steve break the rest of the team out of prison."

"I heard about you," he said. "Nice to meet you. Call me Bucky."

"Bucky. Amanda and I thought it might be helpful to have me here while you talked about the treatment plan. If you'd prefer I go, that's fine as well."

"I can see how this would be a useful time to have a shrink." He looked up at Newbury. "Hi, Doc."

She smiled a little. "Sergeant."

"You should call me Bucky, too, I think."

The smile widened briefly and she looked down. "That might take some getting used to." She cleared her throat and gestured to the couch on one wall. "Have a seat. I have visual aids."

"I always did like Show 'n' Tell." He moved over to the couch. She moved to sit across from him. Yee pulled up between them and the Wakandan - who introduced herself at Dr. Netiri pulled up another chair.

Doc did, indeed, have visual aids. A model of a brain, drawings of neurons and synapses. Even a couple of electrodes they would use to do their ECT on him. Her explanation was through and careful. He asked a couple question and Dr. Yee asked a couple others he hadn't thought of.

"I have no idea how many sessions it will take to subvert the triggering," Doc said, fiddling with the toy brain. "Eventually, we will need to attempt triggering you to make sure it's broken." She blew out a breath. "I know it's not an ideal solution. But it's the best one we have. And Netiri and I both feel we can make it painless and non-traumatic for you."

Bucky studied the little stack of papers sitting in front of him. There were several articles and research papers about ECT, memory processing, and God knew what else. It was more information than he needed. More information than he could hope to wade through. But it was information. It was the opposite of what Hydra had done.

"You don't have to agree now," Dr. Yee said quietly. "You can think about it, read over some of this. Talk to Steve, or me, if you feel that would be useful."

He reached out and touched the papers. "I went into cryo because I couldn't trust my head. You're saying if I do this, I will be able to trust it?"

Dr. Netiri nodded. "Based on Dr. Newbury's experience and my understanding of neurology, yes. This is the best chance we have at dismantling your triggers."

"All of them?" he asked, looking at Newbury.

"We'll start with the compliance trigger that Zemo used. Then move on to others. T'challa was able to get ahold of the notebook. We'll go through it, make sure we get them all."

He nodded and traced the title of the top article. _NIMH Consortium on ECT: Brain Stimulation Therapies_. The idea of lying on a table and letting them stick electrodes on his head made his skin tighten and his heart pound. Going into cryo had been stressful, but ended once he went to sleep. This would be over and over and over again.

The three women were still waiting for an answer. Dr. Yee had a carefully neutral-pleasant expression on her face, as did Netiri. Dr. Newbury looked nervous, worried. Maybe afraid he'd say no. Or that he'd say yes.

"You'll be there?" he found himself saying, voice hoarse. "During the treatments."

She looked startled at the question. "I- yes. I'm in charge of your care."

He nodded and looked at her hands, fiddling with the model. Two of the fingers on her left hand were crooked and didn't bend right. "When do we start?"

The room seemed to let out a tense breath. "I need a couple days to study up on ECT protocol. Netiri says they have equipment we can use, we just need to set up a room to do it in." She glanced up at the other doctor. "Three days? That would be Thursday."

Netiri considered a moment, then nodded. "We can make that work."

Newbury looked back at him. "Thursday morning. In the medical building."

He nodded slowly and gathered up the papers she'd printed out for him. "I'll be there."

*

Barnes left almost immediately after agreeing to the procedure. Amanda imagined he wanted a little time to think; even if he'd made his decision, it was a lot of information to process all at once. Netiri followed soon after. Dr. Yee lingered and Amanda braced for what she knew was coming.

"How are you feeling?"

Amanda had carefully avoided the psychologist after their initial introduction. It was probably silly, Lani seemed like a perfectly nice woman and was highly unlikely to corner her and require her to share her feelings. But very little of her social interaction lately was logical, so avoid her she did.

Still, she wasn't quite rude enough to ignore a direct question, so she went with honesty. "I'm exhausted."

Lani smiled a little. "You did a lot of talking today. I know you're not used to that."

"No." She began to twist her hands together and forced herself to stop. "But it's all right. I'll finish up here, take a long bath and try to read something that doesn't involve brains."

"You've been working yourself hard since you arrived here months ago. Now you have a plan and it's been approved by everyone it needs to be approved by, including Bucky. Are you relieved?"

Despite an initial instinct to just agree and move on, Amanda took a moment to sort through what she was feeling. What she found surprised her, but again, she stuck with honesty. "No. Not really. I'm hoping I'll feel relief or triumph or. . . something once the treatment is finished and Sergeant Barnes is in complete control of his mind. But we're not there yet."

Lani studied her a moment. "What do you feel?"

She shrugged. "Tired."

That was clearly not the answer Lani was expecting, nor was it one she seemed to like. "That's all?"

Another shrug. "Maybe I just need time to let it hit me."

"Maybe." She didn't sound very convinced, but she tugged the brake off her wheels and started rolling her chair to the door. There she stopped and turned a little to look back at Amanda. "I have no authority over you and I certainly can't force you. But I think it would do you good to come talk to me. In a professional setting."

The idea of sitting with Lani - who had been nothing by nice and professional - and talking about her feelings or what had happened to her or what she thought about doing in the future filled her with a choking sense of panic. Amanda battered it down and nodded. "I'll think about it."

Lani clearly didn't believe her, but she just inclined her head and left the room.

Amanda gathered up her laptop and tablet and locked up her office before heading down the hallway to her bed room. It did, indeed, have a nice deep tub that she promptly started filling. It was early still, only late afternoon, but she felt like she was just about peopled out for the day. A bath, some decompression and a late dinner sounded heavenly.

When she'd first come she'd had most of her meals in her room, overwhelmed by the size of the palace and all the people in it. Eventually, she'd become embarrassed at the luxury and had forced herself to go to the dining room to eat. She had, however, learned when the quietest times were.

As she sank into the hot, soapy water, it occurred to her that she was, eventually, going to need to think about what to do with herself once Barnes was healed. Netiri had made noise about keeping her on staff as a researcher and the idea did appeal. Old dreams of researching the serum and its health benefits stirred at the thought. But on their heels came a nameless, senseless panic that doing so would put her in the cross hairs of the wrong people again. She was torn between conflicting but powerful desires. To be useful and use her brain to help the world and to become a hermit and hide from a world that had only ever seemed to hurt her.

She spent far too long in the bath. But when she curled in bed with her tablet she was as relaxed as she ever got anymore. She blamed that, the warm Wakandan breeze, and the dryness of her reading material for her falling asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When she woke in the morning she was famished from skipping dinner and her hair was a tangle of waves from sleeping on it wet. It refused to braid, so she twisted it up in a clip, tugged on clean clothes and went down to breakfast, despite it being the busiest time of the morning for it.

The dining room was, in fact, full of people. They were all chatting with each other in small groups, ringed around one huge table. If she was going to eat there, she was going to have to sit with them. For a half second, she contemplated turning around and leaving. She could wait another hour. There were vending machines in the medical building, that would surely tide her over.

Then Bucky made eye contact with her and indicated the empty chair next to him and she had that flooded engine feeling again. It was like some bizarro version of high school, only now the popular kids were asking her to join.

If he could sit there among people and talk and eat and smile then so could she. It was as simple as that. So she went and got her plate of food and wove her way over to the end of the table where he was sitting with Steve and Sharon and some of the others.

Someone had gotten him some new clothes, a white undershirt under a crisp blue button down, left arm pinned up. He looked very normal, especially when he gave her a small, almost shy smile as she joined them. “Hi, Doc."

She sank slowly into the seat he'd offered. "Good morning."

Laura and Wanda were on her other side, surprisingly free of small children. Laura must have noticed the regard, because she said, "Good morning. I am eating a hot meal by myself. It's a Christmas miracle."

"Slept in?" she asked. "Or your husband jumped on the grenade?"

"We had one of those nights where you realize the full meaning of the term Terrible Twos. Nate finally crashed, Clint crashed, I sent Cooper and Lila off to school and chose food and coffee over sleep. I might regret that."

"I think you should push your luck," Sharon said from the other side of the table. "Go shopping. Get your nails done."

"Just abandon him all day with the Tasmanian Devil? Tempting."

"I'm sure he's done something to deserve it."

Laura grinned and shook her head. "Almost certainly."

"My brother was like that," Wanda said. "Even before the enhancements. He was never still."

The table had a moment of silence, like no one was certain how to reply to that. Amanda knew only the basics of what had happened to Wanda's brother. But she recognized someone trying hard to socialize when it was difficult for them. "In my family it was my little sister, Becca. Combined with a competitive streak a mile wide. I'd chase after her so she wouldn't hurt herself and our other sister would tag along to not be left out."

That made Wanda smile. "What did she grow up to be?"

She ignored the little stab she felt at thinking of Becca and said, "Personal trainer, but she did extreme athletic competitions as a hobby. Was trying to get sponsorship, make it a career." She cleared her throat. "Jessie is on TV."

"Is she an actress?"

"She's a correspondant on MSNBC."

Laura blinked. "Wait, Jessica Newbury is your sister? How was your disappearance not a huge story?" There was another moment of silence and based on Laura's expression someone was giving her a dirty look over Amanda's shoulder.

Still, this was easier to talk about than her other sister. This was facts, long ago mourned and accepted. "Well, she wasn't famous when I disappeared and as far as she knows I'm dead." She added sugar to her tea and sipped it. "They set my apartment on fire. Burned a corpse. Not really breakfast conversation."

"I'm sorry," Laura said. "For both the circumstance and my obliviousness."

Amanda offered a small but sincere smile. "It's all right. It was a long time ago. I imagine everyone here has a conversational land mine or two."

"We've all had our lives trashed," Wanda said. "To some degree or other. We shouldn't be afraid of each other."

It was hard not to take that as directed at her. Rumor was that Wanda's powers extended far beyond moving things with her mind. If true, Amanda hated to think what kind of things she gave off. "Good advice," she said quietly.

"We should go shopping," Sharon said suddenly. "Have a girl's day. I haven't had a fun day with a bunch of women in, God, years."

"I'm in," Laura said. "So's Wanda," she added. There was a rather parental vibe to that relationship. From what Amanda knew of Wanda, she probably needed that.

"I was going to agree anyway," Wanda said. "Sounds like fun. We should invite Lani. And actually if we go this weekend, I think Monica will be back. Maybe she'll buy you some better shoes."

"There is nothing wrong with my shoes," Laura protested.

"Uh-huh," Wanda replied in a tone that was very teenage girl.

"Amanda," Sharon said quietly. "You want to join us?"

Her shoulders tightened and her mind flipped through a series of excuses. She had work to do, she hated shopping, there was nothing she needed. But she suddenly didn't want to beg off and be alone. She imagined hearing them come and go, laughing and talking about their purchases. Having formed new bonds and in-jokes. For the first time in almost a decade there was a group of people who wanted to try to be friends with her.

She had to clear her throat twice but she managed to say, "I could use some new clothes. I haven't really bought anything since I got here."

"Good!" Wanda said. "You have old lady shoes, too."

"They're _comfortable_ ," she said, in virtual unison with Laura. Which made the rest of the table crack up. It felt, for a moment, very normal, and she ignored the ache of nostalgia. Maybe she could actually live here, not just exist.

*

Thursday morning was beautiful. Bucky was starting to think every day in Wakanda was beautiful, though T'Challa assured him it did, occasionally, rain. When the guy wasn't trying to kill him, he was pretty nice, even if they were still on "weather" for conversation topics.

He had breakfast with the group, as usual. Doc wasn't there, probably prepping for his treatment. He was trying very hard not to think about that, so he could eat. It didn't help Steve was making concerned-face at him.

By God, they were going to talk about something else. "Is the fruit here better than elsewhere in the world, or just better than the '40s?"

"It is a lot better," he agreed. "Though the bananas are different."

"We had a good couple of months there after New York where we'd convinced him he was imagining the difference in banana tastes," Clint said. 

"That was all Nat's doing," Steve replied. Then he sighed, probably because he'd mentioned her. Nobody knew where Nat was. Even Clint couldn't find her. "Still nothing?" he asked.

Clint shook his head. "If she doesn't want to be found, even I can't turn her up."

"Maybe that means she's safe," Bucky offered. "If she can hide from everyone here, she can hide from everyone else looking for her."

"I know. But she's alone. I assume. I keep hoping she'll show up."

"She doesn't think she's welcome." Steve shook his head. "It's not like we can take out advertisements. 'T'Challa's not mad at you. Come live with us.'"

"Well we _could_ ," Sharon said. "But I'd need to know what paper to put it in." They all looked at her. "Coded classified ads are a time-honored spycraft tradition. If I had any idea where to go I could put out a few feelers and wait for responses. But short of putting it in every major paper in the world-" She shrugged.

"Why don't you put it in a press release?" Bucky asked. "Get T'Challa to issue one about something mundane, stick the code in there. That's probably news she's keeping an eye on."

She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I'd have to work on the wording a bit but. . . yeah. That's a good idea."

"Happy to be useful," he said with a genuine smile.

She returned the smile, but his phone beeped before she could reply. Time for his treatment. He cleared his throat and sipped his coffee, now unpleasantly cold. "Coming?" he asked Steve, trying to sound casual.

"Absolutely." Steve sounded a little too chipper for it not to be fake. He was a terrible liar.

His first instinct was to try and comfort him, which was a little backwards. He didn't have a lot of comfort in him anyway. Nothing about what he was about to do sounded like a fun way to spend a morning. But it had to be done. So they both got up, said their goodbyes to the others at the table and started walking down to the medical building.

"I never got to tell you," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I appreciate you coming to find me in Bucharest. Helping me out."

"Of _course_ I came to find you. I'd been looking for you for two years."

"I know. I just. . ." He shoved his hand into his pocket. "I'm still not sure I'm worth everything you gave up. But I am. . . happy with where we ended up."

"It wasn't just about you. Don't get a big head."

"I know, I know. I just figured I wanted you to know. In case this treatment thing melts my brain or something."

Steve reached up and squeezed his shoulder. "It was worth it."

He smiled a little and nodded. "And hey, you did get a hot blonde out of the deal."

They reached the lab, and Steve pushed open the door. "She is really hot, isn't she?"

Bucky laughed. "She is. God knows what she's doing with you."

"I have no idea, but I'm hanging on as long as I can." Steve stepped back to Bucky could enter the room.

Doc and Netiri were already there, fiddling with equipment. They'd taken over some unused office, so the walls were warm earth tones instead of sterile white. There was also no metal exam table, but a recliner, surrounded by machines and a rolling table with a tray of syringes.

 The women looked up when they entered and for a moment his gaze met Amanda's. She looked uncertain for a moment, then offered a smile. "You're right on time."

He shrugged, tension creeping up his spine. They'd done everything they could to make this comfortable for him. To make it as distant from what Hydra had done as possible. But the memories were still there, lurking. Steve stepped a little closer, not touching him, but present.

Amanda coughed softly and looked at the machine she was fiddling with. "This is a modified EEG machine. It'll help us monitor brain activity so we know the triggers are doing something. We'll put electrodes over your scalp. They'll be painless, but you'll want to wash your hair when we're done." She gestured to the machine on the other side of the chair. "That is the ECT machine. It has two electrodes, one on either temple."

Stepping away from those machines she gestured at the other equipment. "Blood pressure monitor, oxygen, and IV. The blood pressure cuff will go around your ankle. The other two are used only if needed."

"Okay," he said. "Thank you." He was genuinely grateful for the explanation. Hydra never told him anything. They just strapped him down and did things to him. "Should I sit?"

"Yes, please." He did so and she rolled the tray over to him. "This is a muscle relaxant," she said, pointing to one syringe. "And this is a sedative. The relaxant is so you don't hurt yourself seizing. At most there should be some twitching in your hand and feet. If there's more than that we'll stop the treatment and adjust the dosage. I had to make an educated guess, given your enhancements. Netiri will be monitoring your brain activity and I will be saying the trigger words and beginning the ECT. Her Russian is even worse than mine," she added with a little smile.

"If. . . if it doesn't work because you can't pronounce it well, Wanda will probably do it best."

"No," Steve said immediately. "She's not. . . stable enough, for something this risky." He paused. "Clint and Sharon both speak it if we get stuck, so don't worry about that."

"I'm told my accent is terrible, but no one ever had trouble understanding me," she said. Her voice was different, tighter and stiffer. "But we'll keep it in mind if we don't see the brain activity we expect. If you're ready we can start putting the electrodes on?" He nodded and the women got to work.

There was a lot of them, cords tickled his shoulder and splayed out across the chair. Netiri wrapped the cuff around his ankle, then took her spot by the EEG. "Readout looks normal," she announced after a moment. "BP is elevated but not dangerous."

Amanda came around his side again with the syringes. "Before I - We can use a mouth guard so you don't grind your teeth. We don't have to, though." There was a lot unsaid beneath her words and a lot of shadows in her eyes when she met his gaze again.

He shook his head. He hated the mouth guard. But after having to do dental work at some point, they made him wear it. If he fought there were consequences. "No mouth guard. If I crack my teeth I'm sure there are plenty of nice dentists in Wakanda."

Nodding like that was the answer she'd expected, she picked up a tourniquet and wrapped it around his arm. "Got it." She tore open a little foil packet and clean off a spot on his arm. "For what it's worth," she said quietly. "This brings up a lot of unpleasant memories for me, too."

He looked up and said, "Thank you for helping me."

She swallowed hard and smiled. "Least I could do." She picked up the first syringe. "We'll give this a minute to work, then do the sedative."

"You sure it won't hurt?" he asked, not much above a whisper. He was embarrassed by the question as soon as he asked it.

"If it hurts, we stop immediately," she replied, voice soft. "And we'll figure out why and fix it." Her fingers touched his wrist, soft and cool against his skin. "I promise."

He cleared his throat. "Thank you."

She nodded and rubbed his arm lightly, before taking her hand away and reaching for the other syringe.

Things got a bit fuzzy once the sedative kicked in. He was awake and aware of the others, but it felt very distant. Even when Amanda started saying the trigger words, he recognized them, knew what they meant, but it was like it was happening to someone else. Netiri said something and the words stopped and he heard a different machine kick in.

It didn't hurt. He didn't realize how much he'd still been worried about it until it happened. His feet twitched and his hand jumped. He could feel his left arm, more clearly than he had since waking up. He kind of wanted to turn his head and check if it had somehow reappeared. But his head wouldn't respond and it didn't really seem that important.

He drifted a while, and eventually it all stopped. He might have fallen asleep. It was hard to tell.

When he woke up there was a needle in his arm and a mask on his face. Panic gripped him for a moment but when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was Steve. He looked relaxed, and smiled when he saw Bucky's eyes open, so he probably didn't need to fight anyone.

"He's awake," Steve said and a hand came from the other side of him to pull the mask off. It was then he saw it was an oxygen mask, not his old muzzle.

"How do you feel?" Amanda asked when he turned to look at her.

He took a couple of deep breaths. "Pretty okay, actually." He offered her a smile. "How'd it go?"

"Exactly the way we wanted it to." She returned the smile. "Your brain started to light up after the sixth word and I started the ECT. You responded to that exactly the way we hoped and then drifted off." She glanced at a clock on the wall. "You were out about forty five minutes. I gave you the IV and oxygen to help you recover a little quicker."

"Do you think it worked?"

She hesitated, but smiled again. "We'll need at least a few more sessions before I can answer that with any confidence. But I'm hopeful."

"It was better than I expected. I'm willing to do more."

The smile widened and she looked inordinately pleased. "I'm glad to hear it. We'll try again next Thursday. If you're still doing well we can shorten the interval." Tapping the IV bag, she said, "Let's turn this off and get it out and Captain Rogers can walk you back to the palace. I suggest you go easy the rest of the day. Nap if you want to."

Steve was hovering behind her now, and waved a little. He loved that despite the muscles and the fame and everything, Steve was still kind of a dork sometimes. "Thanks, Doc," he said to Amanda as Steve helped him up.

"You're welcome," she said softly. "Call me or Netiri if you need anything."

He nodded, and then he and Steve left. "You okay?" he asked Steve when they got in the hall.

The question seemed to startle him. Then he swallowed. "It was hard to watch," he admitted. "But they were both very professional and careful. Seems like I had a worse time than you."

"Yeah, I was pretty stoned, to be honest." He took a breath, hoping he wasn't about to offend Steve. "It's probably okay if you don't come next time."

He glanced over at him but Bucky couldn't read his expression. Which might mean he was offended. Or might mean he was relieved and didn't want to show it. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. I'm out of it, it's upsetting for you to watch, and you make Doc nervous."

Steve sighed. "Yeah. Okay. I could swing by at the end to help you home maybe?"

"That sounds like an excellent compromise."

He nodded and they started up the path to the palace. "You said you remembered her, from Hydra?"

The air smelled good, heavy with flowers and damp earth. Bucky took a deep breath before answering. "Yeah. I mean, it's mostly a blur of white coats. Women stood out. There wasn't a lot of women, usually."

"I wonder if that means women are less likely to be evil."

"Maybe. Apparently the only one I remember working on me was coerced." He was quiet a moment, sorting through the jumble of memories he had. Too far back and she wasn't there. Too recent and she was a quiet shadow, trying to be ignored. "She didn't have the scar the first time I saw her."

"Sharon thinks they did that to her."

Made sense. "Sharon has files about her? That's how she found her?" Steve nodded. "Could I see them?" He glanced at Steve. "Would that be weird?"

Steve hesitated. "Maybe? Though she has seen yours."

"She was there when some of them were written." He hunched his shoulders a little. "I don't know why I thought of it."

"Because she interests you?"

Interest. That was probably the word for it. "She was there," he said, which didn't explain anything. Or maybe explained everything. "She knows."

Steve seemed to understand. "You know, too. Maybe you should be friends. Might be good for both of you."

"Compare scars?"

He shrugged. "Make some kind of peace with the past."

Peace. He'd given up on peace a long time ago. _It always ends in a fight,_ he'd told Steve back in Bucharest. And he'd been proven rather horribly right. Still, that was then and this was now. He hadn't been in danger since he'd woken up here. Maybe peace was possible. 

"I'll think about it," was all he said.


	4. Chapter 4

The shopping trip had been scheduled around Nate Barton's nap on Saturday afternoon. When the official invitation had come—and it had been Official, because the future Queen was now involved—it specified the event would commence with brunch in the royal family's private wing. Amanda had never been there.

Even before her ordeal with Hydra this would have made her nervous. She wasn't good with groups and had not been part of a "girls day" in almost twenty years. Medical school had been mostly men and the women she'd been friendly with had leaned towards study groups rather than shopping and manicures.

 She reminded herself, as she walked to the private wing, that she knew all of these women and they, for better or worse, knew her. She'd even meet the future queen a time or two. They'd had a rather hilarious conversation the first time they'd been introduced as she was apparently a famous singer and Amanda had no idea who she was. There was no socially acceptable way to explain being a captive of a terrorist organization for the better part of a decade. Fortunately, the other woman had been delighted at the novelty rather than insulted.

"Hey, wait up!" She turned to see Sharon jogging towards her. "Good, I'm not the only one who's early, we can walk in together."

"Is early bad?" she asked once Sharon had reached her. "Usually I'm late. Or forget altogether."

"I don't think so. I just figured if there's a buffet, I wanted to get there before the good stuff is gone."

Sharon had an almost hilarious appetite. "How long do you run everyday to look the way you do?"

"Five or ten miles. Longer lately since Wakandans are flexible about work hours and think exercise is a necessity to make time for." She glanced at her. "Did you want to join me?"

"No," Amanda said solemnly. "I'm allergic to exercise. Break out in cardiac episodes."

Sharon's laugh was surprise as much as amusement. She supposed it was unusual for her to make a joke. Clearly, these people were wearing off on her.

At the entrance to the private quarters, a staff member directed them to an outdoor lanai, with a big U-shaped outdoor couch. There was a pool and gardens beyond, and a bar with drinks and snacks on one side. On the other, a chef was cooking hamburgers on a grill.

Monica, the king's. . . consort? Betrothed? Was sitting on one end of the couch with a red haired woman. Amanda had met her briefly, on one of Monica's other visits. She knew they were friends and worked together, but had never gotten a good idea of her actual job.

Monica waved when she saw them. "You're the first to make it over. Come sit. Tamara is planning our shopping spree like it's the Normandy invasion."

"We could just have things delivered here to try on," Tamara said. "But where's the fun in that?"

"I like going out in public," Monica said. 

"I love you for your hamburgers," Sharon said, sitting on the couch but watching the grill.

"You love me for her hamburgers," Tamara said. "I refuse to go without them."

"You can thank me for the American Cheese," Monica said. "T'Challa thinks it's not food and the only reason he allows it to be imported is because I want it."

"I'm pretty sure it's not food," Amanda offered. 

Sharon waved a hand at her. "Don't listen to her. She's a doctor, they make them say things like that."

"We all have our indulgences," Monica said. "Mine is a slightly appalling cheese substitute. I'll own that."

The sliding glass door opened to reveal Laura and Wanda. "Oooh, burgers," Laura said. "Don't tell Clint, he'll be jealous."

"He can get his own private cook if he wants burgers," Tamara said, bent over her papers again.

Monica waved the others over to the couch. "We're just missing Lani now. If anyone is hoping to buy something specific let Tamara know."

"They need shoes," Wanda said, pointing at Laura and Amanda.

"We definitely need Lani for that," Sharon said. Amanda had noticed Dr. Yee—though if they were being social she ought to call her Lani—wear some crazy shoes. She was unconstrained by any actual need to walk on them, and so made them her decorative accessory.

"I'm not wearing Lani shoes," Laura declared.

"I need work clothes," Amanda offered, in Tamara's general direction. The only clothes she owned were a collection of things bought on the cheap while she was in hiding, after Hydra. A lot of it had fallen apart and almost none of it was appropriate for Wakandan weather. Women here tended to wear dresses or tunics with loose pants, in deference of the warm, humid weather. No one had mentioned her ratty jeans and tank tops, but if she was going to try to actually have a life, she should probably dress like a respectable adult.

"I will put it on the list." She did in fact write it down.

Monica looked over at her. "I'm glad you could come. T'Challa says you've been working non-stop."

With conscious effort, she didn't fidget or rub her arm. "I have. But we started treatment on Sergeant Barnes and he responded well. So I'm hopefully in the home stretch."

"We're rewarding you with clothes," Sharon said.

"That seems fair." And a far easier explanation than the various things going on her head right now.

The glass door slid open again and Lani rolled out. "I knew I'd be late," she commented.

"You may only have left shoes," Wanda said.

"Well, I'd never notice the blister." She joined them at the couch, parking on one end to be part of the group. "I smell burgers."

"Monica is spoiling us," Sharon said.

The women lapsed into a round of teasing and talking as the burgers were served. They obviously all knew each other well, but didn't make Amanda feel excluded. She just ate her burger and absorbed.

When brunch was over and the meal cleared away, Monica got to her feet. "Dessert seemed like a post-shopping sort of thing. Everyone ready to head out? The car should be waiting for us."

This was probably her last chance to back out. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and stood, following the rest of them through the private wing and out to the front courtyard where a long dark car with tinted windows waited. They all got in, the driver taking Lani's chair and putting it in the trunk. She got in, and then scooted over so Amanda could get in last. She wondered if she'd done that on purpose, knowing Amanda was a little claustrophobic.

Tamara discussed their itinerary with the driver moment, then the glass went up between them and him. "Anyone want a drink?" Monica asked. "We have soda, sparkling water. . ." 

"You're an excellent host," Sharon told her, accepting a bottle of Coke.

"So where exactly are we going?" Amanda asked after she got a bottle of water. 

"One of the upscale markets," Tamara said. "They don't have, like, malls here. Or any of the sort of chain/designer store you might expect. So it's kind of a like a department store, a mix of Wakandan designs and international imports, grouped together in themed pods around a big open-air courtyard. There are tons of these things, this one happens to be our favorite."

"They have a lot of cutting-edge designers," Monica said. "And a booth of Italian shoes."

"I really feel like wearing Italian shoes while chasing children is a waste," Laura pointed out mildly.

Amanda was very grateful to have a fellow practical shoes lover. "I have to stand like, all day long."

"Italian is not a synonym for stiletto," Sharon said.

"It is a synonym for expensive," Laura replied.

"And I am a synonym for free," Monica said.

Laura protested and Monica waved her off. Amanda realized she was probably going to have things purchased for her as well. She had been living more or less on the king's dime since she'd come to Wakanda. Up until now it hadn't really mattered. Food and lodging was provided, as was her laptop and tablet and any books she requested. This was the first time she'd bought anything personal. And it appeared Monica would be buying it for her.

Maybe when Bucky's treatments were done she could get an official position. A paycheck. Maybe find a little house or apartment in the city. Though that way probably lead to isolation and her hermit tendencies. One step at a time.

The outdoor market was pretty much exactly as described, like a ritzy department store meets third world bazaar. There was a group of musicians in the center by a small, plant draped water feature playing soothing, haunting tunes on instruments she didn't recognize.

Tamara steered them towards a clothing boutique first, full of those dresses and tunics that were so popular. Laura and Sharon seemed interested in them as well, so Amanda gave herself permission to browse, touching fabrics and pulling out the occasional piece to hold against herself. The sizes were completely different from American sizing, so she would probably have to eyeball it.

Wanda came over and leaned around her and pointed to the string of random-looking numbers on the tag. "They're sized by measurements. It's complicated but useful. For a dress it's bust, waist, hips; pants are waist hips and inseam, etc."

Amanda smiled wryly. "I don't remember the last time I had my measurements taken. I'm sure they're very different now." She stroked the fabric of a very pretty grey and blue tunic she'd been eyeing. "Do they have a tape measure handy for us newcomers?"

Wanda made some sort of motion, and then a heavyset woman appeared beside her with, yes, a tape measure. "Hello. Would you like to step into the back?"

Her spine stiffened and she fought the urge to hide or possibly grab Wanda's hand. "I can measure myself."

She handed the tape over without complaint. "Of course. Let me know if you need any help."

"Thank you," she said sincerely. The woman smiled and walked off to help someone else and Amanda let out a long, slow breath.

"It's all right," Wanda said quietly.

Embarrassed, she nodded and cleared her throat. "Thank you for your help. I think I'll go in the back." Without waiting for an answer, she marched over to what seemed to be the dressing rooms. She had to wait for her hands to stop shaking before she could do what she needed to do. Once she was done, she went outside and Wanda was still there.

Amanda busied he hands wrapping the tape up. "You didn't have to wait."

"You seemed a little overwhelmed is all."

She didn't really know what to say to that. Agreeing meant saying it out loud. Denying meant lying to her face. Wanda smiled a little, like maybe she understood, and Amanda found herself smiling back. "I'm a little worried they won't have anything in my weird sizes."

"Just fit the largest measurement. Places like this tailor. Though a lot of the fashions are very forgiving."

Biggest was actually her hips, by an inch or two, which most of the clothes were cut for. Wanda helped her shop, adding a couple things to her pile that she might not have chosen herself. She'd been in Wakanda longer than Amanda, though, and was almost certainly better in tune with the fashion.

She tried on several of the pieces and ended up having the nice saleswoman from before come in and pin a few of the dresses so they would fit better. Wanda stood quietly by her side and was a remarkably calming presence.

"The clothes here are so comfortable. At first I felt weird wearing them, being so. . .white. But nobody cares, and it makes me feel less out of place."

"That's what I'm hoping," Amanda said. The saleslady had taken most of the dresses for tailoring, but a few of the tunics had looked fine and the pants were amazing. "I'm considering wearing this the rest of the day."

"Do it." She paused. "We're in the royal entourage right now, I think. We could wear anything."

She stopped fiddling with the hem and looked over at her. "Sometimes I think my life can't get any stranger. Then someone points out I'm in the royal entourage."

Wanda twitched her fingers and a little red ball of energy appeared. "You want to have a strange-off?"

"It doesn't have to be a competition," Amanda said primly, making Wanda smile. "Shall we rejoin the others? See how generous Monica is really feeling."

"And we haven't even gotten to the shoes yet."

There wasn't even any sort of checking out or ringing up. Amanda didn't know if a bill would be sent to the palace or things were just given to the royal family for free or what. She hoped it was the first, all things being equal. Wakanda seemed like a fair sort of place.

The bags went to the car and they moved on to the next store, which had more western stuff. Laura picked up some things for the kids and Sharon grabbed some t-shirts that were clearly for Steve.

"Do you buy them too small on purpose?" Laura asked her. In response, Sharon grinned and put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture.

Next was shoes. Amanda was perfectly happy with her practical old lady shoes, as Wanda called them, but Laura was willing to be persuaded to try on some fancier things. Instead of scary heels, the shop ladies produced a collection of flats and sandals that were frankly gorgeous, and looked surprisingly comfortable, considering.

She was very grateful that no one said "I told you so" when she sat down to try on a pair.

"It's practical to get sandals," Laura said, offering an excuse for Amanda or a justification for herself, she didn't know. "It's hot here." 

"And good leather lasts forever," Sharon added. She had on a very pretty, if complicated looking, pair of strappy sandals.

"This was fun," Monica said, admiring her own choice. "We should make it a regular thing when I'm in town."

"Where you buy us fancy shoes?" Lani asked. She had open-work stiletto boots that went over her knee. "I'm in favor of that."

"Sometimes it might be jewelry," Monica said brightly, gesturing for the salesman to start gathering up boxes.

"They make some _really_ nice stuff here," Sharon said. She looked at Monica. "Though I can't believe you need more bling."

"Never too much bling," Tamara informed her solemnly.

"I prefer the more handmade stuff," Monica added. "There's a woman at the monthly craft faire that carves gorgeous wood bracelets and charms. We'll have to go."

And just like that. . . Amanda had friends.

*

Bucky heard about the girls' shopping trip through the general Palace gossip. It was a little bit like he remembered the old neighborhood in Brooklyn. No one had secrets and if you asked the right people you could find out just about anything. That particular bit of news didn't interest him much. Sharon came back with new shoes for herself and clothes for him and Steve. She chattered happily about Monica and the other women. He spent most of his time with Steve and, by extension, her, so he listened to it with half an ear.

Apparently, Doc had gone with them, which he knew was out of character for her. Asking Sharon for details on her seemed even creepier than asking for her files. He'd decided against that, for the time being. Maybe he'd ask her permission. Or maybe he'd find a way to ask her what had happened himself. Steve was right, it would be good to talk to her about it. They'd both been there. There were probably gaps in his memory she could help with. Things that had been done she could help him understand.

Because, of course, his interest was entirely mental health related.

When he went for his next session with her, she was wearing linen pants and a tunic under her lab coat, similar to the sort of things Netiri wore. She had on sandals and he could see her toes, which he was _very_ surprised to see were painted. She looked. . .pretty. Really pretty.

He slept after the treatment again, waking up with the oxygen mask on but no IV. Doc was sitting next to him, lab coat draped on the back of the chair, reading something on her tablet. He reached up to take the oxygen mask off and it caught her attention and she looked up. "How do you feel?" she asked softly.

"Good." He let the mask hang around his neck. "Better than last time, actually."

"I think we're dialing in the sedative a little better." She stood and stepped closer, turning the O2 off and untangling the mask. This close, he noticed she smelled pretty, too.

"Is it still working?"

"It looks like it. I'm hoping in the next session or two to see some changes in how your brain reacts to the trigger words. But so far everything looks good."

He sat up slowly and she hovered next to him. "I can call down to the palace for Captain Rogers," she offered.

Steve had offered to walk him back. He'd been a little groggy last time and having someone who could haul him up the path if needed seemed like a good idea. "Yeah. But could we start up without him. The fresh air helps."

She hesitated a moment, but nodded. "All right. But let me get him moving so he'll meet us on the path."

He liked the idea of talking a walk with her more than he expected. So he found himself saying, "I heard about the shopping trip."

"Oh." He'd have sworn she was blushing if he could think of any reason why she would be. "Yes." She smoothed a hand down her tunic and he couldn't help but follow the path of her hand. "It was time to start. . . acclimating. And it's much more comfortable in the heat."

"It looks great," he told her sincerely.

She sounded almost shy when she replied, "Thank you." Clearly flustered, she turned away and made a call. A few moments later she returned to his side. "Ready?"

He heaved himself up out of the chair. He was a little unsteady, but much better than last time. She hovered next to him, clearly ready to call it off if he wobbled to much. The unsteadiness passed quickly and he nodded to her. Hesitant, she nodded and opened the office door for him. 

"I'm okay, Doc. I promise."

"I'm sorry. I don't mean to fuss." She gave him a sidelong glance. "But if you fall there's no way I can drag you up this path."

He offered her a hopefully reassuring smile. "If I fall, I'll get back up."

That at least seemed to settle her. She smiled back and for a little while they walked in silence. It was windier than usual and the air smelled damp, like it was coming from the ocean. They took a turn on the path and for a moment they were unprotected on their right. The wind gusted hard and she made a little noise, huddling against it.

"Netiri says wind from the west means rain," she commented.

"Don't like the rain?"

"It's loud." For a moment he thought that's all she'd say, but she added, "It doesn't just rain, it storms. Thunder, wind. It's only done it a few times since I got here but. . . it's intense."

He watched her, the way she looked away, the way her shoulders hunched. "Does it remind you of them?"

She swallowed and nodded. "I couldn't even tell you why. I was never anywhere tropical. I saw far more snow than rain." She shrugged, posture defensive. "It made the nightmares worse."

"I'll shut up if it upsets you," he told her. "I just. . . sometimes want to talk about it."

They got out of the wind, once again protected by the big arching trees. Her shoulders loosened incrementally. "We can talk about it," she said quietly. "I suppose we're in a very exclusive club. Kept and tortured by Hydra."

"I don't want Yee's detached professionalism or Steve's unrelenting sympathy. I want to talk to someone who knows."

Her mouth quirked. "He is _unrelentingly_ sympathetic, isn't he?"

"He means well. He really does. And I'm so grateful to have him back. But it's like he doesn't want to admit the darkness exists. Ignoring it doesn't make it any easier to live with."

"It's a part of us now," she said. "Ignoring it wouldn't be healthy." It was a relief to hear someone say it. "We can talk about it. Maybe. . . not right now. I have to go back to the lab, update your chart."

"Of course, of course. Maybe some other time." Interacting with people was still not entirely his strong suit, apparently. He could see Steve coming from the other direction anyway.

Doc's shoulders stiffened, but her stride didn't falter. "You can come find me," she said, before Steve got into ear shot. "Any time. Especially after dark." She glanced at him. "I don't sleep much anymore."

"Me neither," he replied. "Don't tell anyone that."

She looked up at him and her smile was sad but sincere. "We can keep each other's secrets."

He waved to Steve. "Deal," he said to her.

Steve reached them. "Hey, you look great," he said to Bucky, then looked over at Doc. "It went well?"

"Better than last time," she replied and Bucky noticed she shifted ever-so-slightly so he was between her and Steve. They had truly fucked her up if he now felt safer than Steve. "I think we'll try the next treatment a little sooner. Maybe on Monday. Assuming you don't have any delayed side effects," she added to Bucky.

"Monday sounds great," he replied. "I'll see you then." He looked at Steve. "You hungry? I'm starving."

"I can always eat," he said and stepped back and turned as Bucky joined him. He heard the crunch of Doc's footsteps retreating as they walked towards the palace.


	5. Chapter 5

He felt good that afternoon. He and Steve even went for a run in the evening, and it was enough exercise he slept a bit—he didn't need much. He woke up hours before dawn, though, his dreams as dark and confusing as ever. He went out on his balcony to get some air, staring at the dark jungle beyond, and that massive panther statue carved in the rock of the hillside the palace was built on. 

There was. . .a person sitting on the head of the panther.

It took him several minutes to be sure he wasn't seeing things or still caught in some sort of strange dream. When he was sure he was seeing what he was seeing, he also realized the person was Doc.

Had anyone asked him to guess at her hobbies, daredevil rock climbing would not have been at the top of the list. But there was was, knees drawn to her chest and arms wrapped around her legs, staring out into the jungle. Probably awake for the same reason he was.

Not wanting to startle her, he whistled, long and low, letting the wind carry it. Her head lifted, and she looked around a moment before spotting him. Her shoulders hunched in what might have been embarrassment, then she waved.

He waved back, then swung his leg over the balcony rail. He jumped to Steve and Sharon's balcony, then dropped down onto Amanda's below theirs. She watched him with amusement. "Hey," he called.

"Hi," she said. "I almost forgot you could do stuff like that."

"Sometimes I forget, too."

She patted the panther head. "Do you want to come down here?"

He sensed that wasn't an invitation she made lightly. So he nodded and climbed down to her.

It was more than big enough for the both of them and she scooted over a little so he could sit. "I was watching the storm come in," she said, pointing out at the jungle. Sure enough, threatening storm clouds were slowly rolling closer. He could see a flash of lighting as he watched.

"I was having bad dreams. Or, well, uncomfortable dreams. The kind you don't remember but feel when you wake up."

"Yeah," she said softly and he had the impression she knew exactly what he meant. "They say dreams are at least partially your subconscious sorting through things. I feel like mine could probably take a break once in a while."

"Mine is probably confused as shit right now."

"Probably." They shared wry smiles and lapsed into silence for a moment. He liked that he could be quiet with her, in addition to sharing their scars.

That wasn't a conversation he really knew how to start, so he was relieved when she said, "They woke you up six times when I was there. Including the last time, with Fury and Steve."

"Do you know what the other ones were for?"

She tipped her head back. "The first one was the assassination of a scientist. In the Ukraine. I think you shot Natasha Romanov, she was protecting him. She got you back." She tapped a spot on his leg where he had a flat white scar. "I stitched you up."

"I remember the faces of the people I killed, but not really why. And it's like they're someone else's memories. When I am the Soldier, I don't have my own memories. I killed Tony Stark's parents. Howard was a friend of mine. But in that moment I didn't know him at all." 

"You were. . . very different. Back then. It's still strange for me to hear you talk. Once in a while, before they'd trigger you or wipe you, I'd see a glimmer of personality. Of the man behind the weapon." She said it all calmly, with no recrimination or the endless apologies the others gave. He relaxed a little. "I imagine the work I did was put to some terrible purposes," she added after a moment. "And I wasn't even brain washed."

"I think that's worse," he said, since honesty was the theme of the moment. "What they did to you."

"I don't think there's a scale." She wasn't looking at him, still watching to storm roll over the trees. "There's a holocaust survivor, Frankl, who compared suffering to a gas. Gas released in an empty room will fill the room, whether it's small or large. Suffering fills a person, whether the pain is great or slight." She looked down, then turned her head to look at him. "It was all awful. They broke my fingers and they made you kill your friend."

"They just. . . they made you do evil with something that was meant for good. At least my skill set they availed themselves of was already intended to hurt and kill."

"One could argue it was intended to protect. You used to watch Steve's back when you were a sniper."

"But I did it by killing."

She was quiet a moment, then her fingers touched the back of his hand. They were cold. Her hands were always cool when she was working on him during the treatments. Or maybe he was just hot. "It's nice here," she said quietly, hand resting on his but not holding. "There's peace. That's why I started climbing out here. It reminded me of climbing trees when I was little. Before everything went to hell."

"You think some day we'll actually sleep?"

"Without the aid of narcotics?" She lifted a shoulder. "That's probably a Lani question. But I'd like to think so. With enough time and distance."

He took a deep breath, smelling the ozone in the air. "Storm's getting closer."

She tilted her face into the wind, hair blowing back. "We should head inside."

He didn't want to go back to his room, but she didn't look like she wanted to get rained on, and she struck him as someone who'd stick around if he did. "You need help up?"

She gave him a look that was almost offended, then got to her feet. She jumped up, grabbing the edge of the balcony and hauling herself up. There was none of the grace of a trained fighter, but she got it done. He waited until she was all the way up before hauling himself up as well. It would have been a lot easier with two arms. He should really talk to someone about getting a new one.

The balcony lead into the room she used as her office, French doors hanging open. Doc hesitated a moment when they got inside, then looked up at him. "I'm probably not going to sleep again. Do you want to come to my room for a while? I can order up some tea."

He smiled at her, a real smile. "I promise to be a gentleman."

It was clear from her expression that it had never occurred to her. "I trust you," was all she said, before heading for the door.

He followed her, and once inside, asked, "Why?"

"Why do I trust you?" she asked. He nodded and she glanced away, gaze skipping around the room. "You've been awake a few weeks and I've never seen you lift a hand to anyone. Or even raise your voice. You've always treated me with respect. As far as I can tell, during the two years you were on the run you kept low, didn't cause trouble. Tried to heal. It just . . . seems clear that you don't want to hurt me. Or anyone else, who isn't trying to hurt you." She shrugged. "I don't know, is there a Stockholm Syndrome phrase for feeling sympathy for your fellow captives?"

"I think maybe that's a way to stay human."

She smiled a little and looked back at him. "That's probably right."

"You're probably the only person alive who is more comfortable around me than they are around Steve."

With a little groan, she sat at the edge of her bed. "I feel awful about that. I know it hurts his feelings. I just can't shake it."

He felt a little embarrassed when he said. "I don't mind it. It's nice even. Don't tell him I said that."

"We don't chat much," she replied dryly. She sighed again, plucking at a thread on the quilt beneath her. "Intellectually I know he no more likely to hurt me than you are. There's just something about him. . . He has a particular tone of voice. Cap Mode, Sam and Sharon call it. It just brings everything rushing back." 

"I can see that. Wanda's accent sets me teeth on edge."

"That makes me feel a little better." The admission seemed to set her at ease. With a glance at the clock she asked, "Do you want a midnight snack? The kitchen will be open and they're used to me calling down at all hours."

"I am pretty much _always_ hungry."

She grinned and stretched across the bed, reaching for the phone. She was back in more Western clothes, grey sweat pants and an old t-shirt with a faded logo on the front. When she stretched the shirt rode up and exposed a strip of pale skin.

He found himself utterly fascinated by that glimpse of stomach. The Soldier had had no interest in women. And in his two years hiding he'd done his best to avoid them. This was something older, a vestigial emotion of the man he once was. Though he supposed that version of himself hadn't spent a lot of time in women's bedrooms.

"Hi, Amil," Amanda was saying on the phone. "Yes. I am late this morning." She cast a vaguely exasperated look at Bucky, apparently oblivious to his distraction. "Could you send up tea. For two this time. And those sandwiches I like. A lot of them. Sure. Thank you."

The person on the other end of the phone said something that made her blush, but Bucky didn't comment. When she hung up, he said. "They should put it in the brochure that you can order food at this hour."

"I don't know if they do it for everyone. Well, I'm sure T'Challa and Monica can get whatever they want whenever they want it. Amil started telling me to call in to keep me from poking around the kitchen when they were trying to prep for breakfast. T’Challa said it was okay so . . ." She shrugged. "Supposedly, before electrical lights people would sleep in shorter shifts. Wake up in the middle of the night, get work done before dawn. Those of us with insomnia carry on the tradition."

"That makes it sound almost healthy and normal." Not much about his life was.

She shrugged. "Neither of is showing signs of severe sleep deprivation. We function during the day, carry on conversations. I do some fairly involved work. Healthy might be stretching it, but the concept of sleeping eight to ten hours straight is a relatively recent habit. Anthropologically speaking."

He found it remarkably attractive when she scienced at him. It wasn't something he'd known did it for him. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe this was a facet of the new him. Maybe it was just her. "Then I'm going to stop feeling guilty."

"Good. Glad to help." She tucked her legs up under her, crossing them to sit. Tired of hovering over her, he looked around and found the little couch that seemed to be in all the guest rooms covered in at least three layers of papers and books. Out of options, he perched gingerly at the end of her bed.

She looked amused, but didn't comment. "Do you talk to Lani a lot?"

"I don't know what qualifies as 'a lot', but she's been very helpful in figuring out how to manage certain things. How to handle my head."

"She's been encouraging me to come see her. I probably should but the idea of talking about any of it with a stranger makes me queasy. This is nice," she added hastily. "But like you said, we were both there. We. . . know."

"I think there are different sides to it. Sometimes having a blank face you don't have to worry about helps. Just dump things out without wondering if you've horrified the person you're talking to. Maybe I have horrified her. She'd never say so."

"Given her history, it's likely she's heard far worse." She was quiet, picking at the quilt again. "I'll keep thinking about it."

"You should try it. It's not like talking to other people. You can be. . . selfish."

Her brows went up at that, but she didn't respond. The silence stretched between them, interrupted by a knock at the door. Amanda hopped up and answered it, letting in the maid carrying a large tray with a tea set and large plate of tiny, two-bite sandwiches. She set it on the end of the bed next to him and left without a word, though the smile she gave Amanda made her blush again.

"I guess now we get to find out how gossipy the staff here is," she muttered, returning to the bed and their snack.

"I'll be able to tell by Steve's face how quickly the rumor we're fraternizing travels."

She poured a cup of tea and handed it to him, before fixing her own. "Is he going to come ask about my intentions? I'm really not sure my heart could take it."

"I'll handle him," he replied. He wondered if maybe she had intentions. But there was no non-mortifying way to ask.

They chatted as they ate. The conversation wandered to lighter topics, the food, tidbits of gossip she knew from the other ladies. The storm hit full force as they were sipping the last dregs of the tea. Amanda's body language changed immediately, curling up on herself.

Bucky felt an odd surge of protectiveness. Or maybe it wasn't that odd. He'd spend the first part of his life taking care of someone. That instinct was still there, buried underneath the killer. He took her cup from her and moved the tray to the floor. The bed had flimsy curtains, like mosquito netting, but thicker and more decorative. He tugged them closed, blocking out the sight if not the sound, and rejoined her on the bed, close, but not touching.

For a few moments they listened to the wind and the patter of the rain. "Where did you grow up?" he asked.

"North Carolina," she said quietly. "We had storms sometimes. Not like this." She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "My littlest sister was scared of them. She'd crawl in my bed with me."

"They remind you of her," he said. It was a memory that hurt.

"Jessie." Her voice cracked on the word. "She thinks I'm dead. I practically raised her."

"Why don't you tell her you're alive?"

She shook her head. "I don't know. I should. I thought about it. I just. . . it had been so long. She'd restarted her life. And I'm not the person I was when they took me. I thought it might be easier not to open those wounds."

"I thought that about Steve. That's why I hid even though I knew he and Sam were looking for me."

"Do you regret it? Not joining him sooner?"

"There are people that are dead who wouldn't be. Maybe his life and friends and team wouldn't have been so wrecked, if I'd come out of hiding earlier. On the other hand, maybe I'd be in jail."

"I don't know that my sister and my relationship has that high stakes." She blew out a breath. "I think I distracted myself, working on your problem. Now that we have a solution that's working. . . I'm thinking about all the things I've been ignoring."

"What else are you ignoring?"

She shook her head. "What I do next, I suppose. Netiri has started to plant seeds about me joining her team permanently. Do serum research. I wrote a thesis, a lifetime ago, about modifying super soldier serum to help with certain types of debilitating diseases. It's what put me on Hydra's radar in the first place. Netiri and her group are interested in the possibilities. I'd have a lab, assistants. Do good with my work. But-"

"It's what put you on Hydra's radar," he supplied when she trailed off.

Her eyes were bright and she blinked rapidly a moment. "I'm so tired of having all these land mines in my head." She took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes.

"Maybe it's time to blow them up."

She laughed and sniffled. "Is that the recommended procedure?"

"It's what they do in the field. I think they use robots these days."

"Huh." She rubbed her eyes with the heel of her hand and resettled her glasses. "It's something to think about."

"If I can help you," he said quietly. "I'd be happy to. You're giving me my brain back."

He could hear her swallow and her eyes were red rimmed when she looked over at him. "Thank you."

She didn't like to be touched. He knew that. But he shifted next to her on the bed, and held out his arm. She went very still and the air between them grew heavy and expectant. He was about to move away again when she very slowly leaned closer and tucked into his side. He rested his cheek against the top of her head. It was the most rewarding hug he'd ever had.

*

Amanda didn't remember falling asleep, which was a bit of a novelty. Sleep was generally proceeded by an hour or two of staring at the ceiling trying to calm her thoughts. She remembered waking up in the wee hours, going to sit on her panther. Bucky joining her. Talking. Holding her in an attempt to comfort her.

There was a snore behind her and it took all she had not to jump off the bed. Clearly the fact she didn't remember him leaving was because he hadn't, in fact, left.

Glancing over her shoulder, she found him sprawled on his back behind her, his fingers tangled in her hair where it spread on the pillow. They were both dressed and on top of her covers, so clearly nothing had happened that she couldn't remember.

It was still raining, heavy drops tapping on the balcony outside her windows. She blamed that for not hearing the knock at her door until it creaked open a little. "Amanda?" Sharon said from the door. "You up?"

Bucky startled a little but stayed silent. Amanda made an effort to sound groggy when she called back, "Sort of?"

"Sorry." Amanda could see her shape through the white bed curtains. "Bucky didn't show up for breakfast and he's not in his room. Did you see him last night at all? I know you're up sometimes."

Beside her, he whispered, "Steve will take the palace apart brick by brick."

She rubbed and hand over her face. Sharon was a spy, she could keep a secret. But asking her to keep one from Steve wasn't fair. She ticked through a few lies that might work, then gave up. "I did run into him. We stayed up and talked."

"Do you know where he went after that?"

"To sleep," he said, sitting up. "Fully dressed."

There was a very long pause on the other side of the curtain. Then a hand twitched it open and Sharon peeked in. She looked. . . unbelievably delighted. "You know he's going to either plan the wedding or start fretting," she said to Bucky. "Probably both."

"You tell him if he make a fuss I'm going to kick his ass," he said defensively. "I can still do it. Probably."

She held up her hands. "I will go distract him if you want to sneak out and tell him you went for an early morning run. But I'd prefer not to have to lie."

"I don't want you to lie to him."

"In that case, I will go tell him I found you and you're fine. And let you handle the fussing."

"Thank you. Feel free to share that part about the ass-kicking."

"Oh, I will." Sharon gave Amanda a little grin that she was pretty sure meant there was a friendly interrogation in her future, then twitched the curtains closed.

Amanda listened to her foot steps cross the room and the door close behind her before looking at Bucky. "This will be interesting."

He hunched his shoulders. "I'm sorry."

"Hey." She reached over and touched his arm. "Don't be sorry. Last night was. . . really nice. The girls will tease me a little, but I can handle it."

"I haven't slept that good in a while," he said. "I think you must be soothing."

She was pretty sure she was the opposite of soothing. But she'd slept soundly, too, so maybe there was something to it. "Maybe our demons cancel each other out."

He tangled their fingers together. "Our pieces match. Like a puzzle made out of broken glass."

That was a remarkably poetic sentiment, especially from him. But she liked it. Beautiful mosaics were made from shattered pieces. She took a deep breath. "I think I might go talk to Lani today. See if she can help me find a stick to start poking those landmines."

Bucky squeezed her hand. "Good."

After a moment of silent but intense debate, she leaned over and pecked his cheek, scrunching her nose at the stubble. "Thank you."

She could see him swallow. "Maybe we could. . . do this again?"

"I'd like that. You're welcome anytime."

"I'll go reassure Steve." He climbed off the bed, then turned back to her. "Thank you. Amanda."

That was, as best she could recall, the first time he'd used her first name. Inexplicably, it caused a lump in her throat. She nodded and smiled, not trusting herself to speak. He returned the nod and let himself out, closing the door behind him.

Right. Okay. Shower. Fresh clothes. Go find Lani. Prepare for teasing. That was her to-do list for the morning.


	6. Chapter 6

She went down to grab some food after her shower, and only Wanda was down there. "Morning," she called, without so much as a raised eyebrow. "I slept late."

"Yeah, me too." She sank into the seat across from her and fussed with her tea a moment. Then, because she was apparently in a sharing mood, she asked, "Do you have trouble sleeping?"

Wanda made a little noise, almost a laugh, but not quite. "All the time."

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"It's not that bad, here. I slept better at the farm, worse at the compound. It depends who is in the immediate vicinity."

"Do you pick up on people's dreams?" Wanda inclined her head in a sort of half nod. "I hope I'm far enough away."

"It's hard to tell who it's from. Not that I don't also have my own." She stirred her coffee. "The experiments that made my brother and I, there were thirty volunteers. We were the only survivors."

Amanda winced. She knew next to nothing about what had been done to Wanda. No files had been leaked and it had been a very different part of Hydra that had done it. She got the sense the girl liked being touched even less than she did, so she refrained from taking her hand. "Other people's suffering can be harder than your own."

"I suppose you do get used to your own demons."

"I think there's an element of helplessness to it, as well." She sipped her tea and held the cup a moment to warm her hands. "I know I'm not particularly. . . warm and fuzzy. But if you ever want to talk. . ."

Wanda smiled. "It always helps. Talking."

"I'm beginning to appreciate its benefits. After breakfast I'm going to track down Lani. It's past time I started dealing with what happened."

That made her smile widen. "She's really helped me. I didn't want to. Sam ordered me. Because of what happened to us on the Raft. But we talk about a lot of things." 

"They say doctors are the worst patients. Which is certainly true in my case." She ate some toast. "I think becoming more friendly with her helped, oddly enough. I'm not big on strangers."

"I do not blame you."

They talked about the Barton kids and the book Wanda had taken out of the Wakandan library. If she had heard anything about Bucky staying in her room the night before, she gave no sign of it. They parted ways in the hallway, Wanda to go watch the rain and Amanda to find Lani. Now that she had told multiple people about it, she couldn't back down. Better to get it over with quickly.

She'd clearly been given an official office, but it was a beautiful space, with comfortable couches and massive glass doors that opened to its balcony. They were open when Amanda got there, letting in air made humid by the warm rain.

Lani looked up when she tapped at the open door and gave a welcoming smile. "Amanda. What can I do for you?

Now that she was here there was really no backing down. Though she had absolutely no idea how to start. "I thought we should. . . talk."

She made a gesture for her to come in. "You're in luck, my morning is empty. I think it's the weather."

Amanda edged into the room, closing the door behind her. Lani waited patiently as she gave herself a silent pep talk and went to sit on one of the couches. She didn't really know where to start, so she said the first thing that came to mind. "I'd like to stop being nervous around Steve."

"What is it about Steve that makes you nervous?"

"It's hard to quantify." This was good. A small, solvable problem. She was good at those. "He has a particular presence that reminds me of the men I dealt with in Hydra."

"Do any of the other men make you feel this way?"

She sighed and thought about it. "T'Challa, sometimes. Some of the guards. He's the worst, though. And I feel bad, because he's been very nice to me."

"It does not sound like it's military training. Or lethality. Or the others would set you off. Perhaps the air of authority?"

Amanda took a breath and let it out again. "He gives orders. Sharon calls it his Cap Mode. And men who give orders haven't been very kind to me."

"This might sound counterintuitive, but it might help if you spent more time around him. Got to know him as a person. You might stop seeing him as Cap."

She rubbed a hand over her face. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"Exposure therapy is time tested method. I can get you some studies to look at."

"No. I know. I've probably read them." Though she liked her a little more for offering. "Do you think I should. . . explain to him what's going on?"

"I would recommend you tell him, yes. I can talk to him if you prefer, or we can have him come here."

She considered her options for a moment. "Maybe together would be better."

"Would you like me to set it up?"

"Yes. Thank you."

"I'll find something free on your schedules and let you know."

It was so easy she didn't want to trust it. But she supposed part of Lani's job was to make this stuff easier. "If you need me to rearrange anything, I can."

She nodded. "Anything else you wanted to talk about?"

Personally, she thought that was pretty good for her first round. But this was her opportunity to talk things out that were confusing her. Ideally before everyone else pounced on her. "Um. Last night I was awake. I'm awake most nights. And Sergeant Barnes - Bucky." It was still hard to think of him him like that. "He found me and we. . . talked. A long time. Ended up falling asleep together. Sharon found us because Steve was looking for Bucky." And because she knew what the next question probably was, she added, "I don't know what to think about it."

"Are you uncomfortable being friends with him?"

"No. I'm actually quite comfortable around him. More than anyone else."

"Is it perhaps feelings other than friendship?"

Wasn't that the conundrum? Amanda fiddled with the hem of her shirt, then rubbed her arm. "Maybe?"

"Because he's your patient or because you're uncomfortable with romantic relationships in general?"

"The second." She spread her hands and flexed her fingers. "I know the first should probably bother me but to be honest he's never felt like a patient. Not in the traditional sense. We were both captives and I had a way to help him heal. It seems. . . more like service than medicine."

"All of the traditional rules are pretty upended now, anyway, I think."

"Yeah. You don't seem to be keeping a professional distance. Not that I think it's a bad thing," Amanda hastened to add. "I'm far more comfortable talking to you now that I've seen you buy shoes."

"Professional distance would make for a very lonely life here, I think."

"I'm sure studies have been done on ex-pats bonding while overseas. What we have here is a rather extreme example of that."

"It would make sense then to take what happiness you can get. That includes romantic relationships."

Lani was not easily distracted. Good to know. "I don't. . . there hasn't been anyone since med school. Not even a one-night stand at a bar. I wasn't particularly good with men or relationships when I was having them. Now?" She wove her fingers together and squeezed. "He's not exactly easy mode."

"Take it slow, then. There's no timeline you have to adhere to. Be like teenagers and make-out for months before someone takes their shirt of."

The idea of making out with Bucky in her bed sent heat pumping through her veins. She was pretty sure she was blushing. That probably answered her question about whether it was more than friendship or not. "All right."

"There are no rules but the ones you make," Lani told her.

"That is very good advice."

*

Bucky went directly from Amanda's room to Steve's, hoping to catch him before rumors spread too far. Sharon was there, and they were clearly talking about him, as they fell immediately and abruptly silent when he knocked on the open door and stuck his head in.

Sharon gave him the same grin she'd given Amanda a few minutes ago and started backing towards the door. "Oh my goodness I just forgot I have somewhere else to be. Hi Bucky, you look well rested," she added as she slipped past him.

He sighed and closed the door for privacy. "I'm sorry I worried you."

Steve grinned. "Sounds like it was for a good reason."

He really hoped it was just warm and he wasn't _actually_ blushing. "Nothing happened."

"Sleeping together isn't nothing."

"It was just sleep." Which he supposed wasn't nothing, either. "We talked about. . . things and had tea and sandwiches." Steve's expression at that was priceless. "And somewhere along the way we fell asleep."

He shrugged. "Your face does not have platonic written all over it."

Bucky didn't think he had the worlds to explain to Steve how strange and scary this was for him. But Steve would want to help, so he tried. "I am. . . attracted to her."

"That's a good thing," he said. "Isn't it?"

He walked a couple of feet over so he could sit on the little couch by the window. It made him think of Amanda's covered in paperwork. Steve's looked freshly fluffed. He'd always been neat. "An Italian prostitute," he said. "Two night before the train job in the Alps. That's the last woman I slept with. She called me 'American GI' and giggled a lot." He ran a hand through his hair. "If you want one I actually cared about you might have to go to that redhead at Coney Island."

"I had no idea she succumbed to your charms," he said with a chuckle. Probably trying to put him at ease.

"She was loud." He was pretty sure Amanda wasn't loud. He probably shouldn't be thinking about that. "And I was very charming. I don't think I am anymore."

"Neither is Doc."

He felt an immediate prickle of defensiveness but he smothered it. Steve was trying to help and it was a good point. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I don't know how to do this anymore. I don't know if she's interested. I don't know. . . how to have a relationship. What to do." He paused. "Well, I remember what to _do_. Everything still works."

"That's good to know," Steve said with a laugh. "Otherwise I don't think I could bear the tragedy."

"Don't tell me you weren't a little relieved when it got back up after seventy years of disuse."

"Party, but I was also on the subway. Do you see the _things_ people wear now? Or don't wear, as the case may be."

Sometimes Steve sounded every inch of his hundred years. "When I first got to Romania mini skirts were very in. It was. . . distracting."

"You know, I never had a real relationship before Sharon. And somehow we figured it out."

Sharon seemed a hell of a lot more stable than Amanda. Well, that wasn't fair. He didn't get the sense Amanda was near a breakdown, anymore than he was. They'd talked last night about their hermit years, as she'd called them. Him in his flat in Bucharest and her in her cabin in Maine. They'd both had time in privacy and peace to heal the worst of their scars. 

"You didn't have an audience," he pointed out. "'Cept for that first kiss."

"Fair point." He paused for a long moment. "Go on safari."

His brow furrowed. "What?"

"Go get some privacy. It was good for Sharon and I. Go down to one of their savannah wildlife parks and stay in a tent for a week or two. T'Challa has some really fancy tents."

He tried to picture Amanda in a tent. It was kind of hilarious. But the privacy and solitude appealed. Maybe it would appeal it to her. "I'll ask her."

"You both could use a vacation."

"She's probably going to fuss about me missing treatments." But maybe a break from that would be good, too.

Steve grinned. "I have faith in what's left of your charm."

He felt himself smiling as well. "Thanks."

Now he just had to figure out how to broach the topic with Amanda.

Giving her space seemed like the polite thing to do, so he occupied himself for the rest of the morning and afternoon. He went for a run with Steve and shooting practice with Clint. Despite some of the darker memories attached to it, he found shooting very centering. Time alone with his thoughts with something external to focus on. It was a good time to get clarity.

She'd told him he was welcome anytime, so in the evening he went and knocked on her door, opening it when she called for him to come in.  
 She was on her bed, papers spread out in front of her. She looked up when the door opened and looked pleased it was him. "Hey. I was just thinking about you."

That made him unreasonably happy. "Hi. How are you doing?"

"Good. I'm looking at the results from your treatments." She gestured to the papers.

He came closer. "What are they telling you?"

She rummaged a moment, lining up three different charts. "These are the readings from your first two sessions." She pointed to spots where the squiggly lines started to spike and grow frantic. "Your brain first started to react to the trigger words at the fifth word."

Now she pointed to the third chart. The squiggles got frantic farther along. "On your third session, you reacted on the seventh word."

He leaned over her shoulder to study the charts. The numbers and notes didn't mean much, but the gap between the first two and third was obvious. "That's good?"

She looked up at him. "It's very good. It means we're rerouting the neural process. It takes longer for the trigger to activate. It means the procedure is doing exactly what we wanted it to do."

"It's really working," he said softly, feeling a little awed.

"It is. I have quantifiable data to prove it."

He reached out to touch the charts, like physically handling the paper would somehow make it more real. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," she said softly. "I'm very happy for you."

On nothing but emotion and gut instinct, he leaned over and kissed her. She made a little sound. He couldn't tell if it was desire or fear or what. Before he could decide, she had lifted a hand and touched his jaw. And perhaps most miraculously, she was kissing him back.

He felt a well of affection and gratitude. He didn't know what the hell he was doing, really, and somehow it had worked. He didn't want to freak either of them out, so he held her like she was made of glass.

They kissed for far longer than he'd expected, both of them just enjoying the touch, the connection. It never got very intense, or deep, lingering at a level of chasteness that he'd have been teased for even in the forties. But it felt good and right, for a few minutes.

When they parted he didn't go far, resting his forehead on hers. She was still cupping his face and he'd curled his hand around her waist. "Come on safari with me," he said quietly before he could think better of it.

She blinked owlishly. "Wha-"

"Steve and I were talking," he hurried to explain. "I was worried about us figuring this out with an audience. He suggested we go down to one of the wildlife parks. Sleep in a fancy tent. Have time together just the two of us."

After a little more blinking, she smiled a little, rubbing her thumb on his cheek. "I think you and I had very similar conversations and received very different advice."

Well, that made him nervous. He had to swallow before asking, "What was your advice?"

"Lani suggested we take this. . . slow. Make out fully clothed like teenagers for a few months, to paraphrase."

"We can do that on safari. We can sleep in different tents. I want to _talk_ to you. Without people planning a wedding because we held hands."

She seemed to consider that a moment. He'd have been nervous again, but her thumb was still brushing back and forth against his jaw. "All right," she said finally, sounding almost shy.

He grinned. Nobody made him smile like her. "Can I kiss you again?"

Now she definitely sounded shy. "Yes." He cupped the back of her neck and brought his mouth down to hers.

This time the sound she made was definitely pleasure. The kiss was deeper, and far less chaste. The hand on his jaw slid up into his hair and she curled her other arm around his back, holding herself to him. He groaned, wrapping his arm around her. It had been so long he'd almost forgotten what this felt like. To want someone, to have them want you back.

She gave him a little tug, leaning back on the bed. He put a knee up on the mattress, then sank down with her. She felt soft and vulnerable beneath him and it made him feel big and rough and awkward. But her hands were gentle on him and the sounds she was making shot heat straight through him. He lifted his head. "Amanda."

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were dark. She caught her lower lip in her teeth and he stifled a groan. "Sorry," she said softly. "Got carried away."

"I was going to ask if this was the making out part."

The flush darkened. "I don't remember teenage boys being that good at kissing. But yeah, this is some serious making out."

He kissed her again. "Then I am absolutely happy to follow the mission plan where we do this for months."

She laughed. It was almost a giggle, which was kind of adorable. "Well. Then I think we could probably sleep in the same tent."

"I'm in favor of that." He ducked his head. "I liked sleeping next to you."

"So did I." She ran her fingers through his hair. "I liked waking up to you, too. Until we were interrupted. The more I think of it, privacy sounds nice."

"I'll make sure it is a really, really nice tent."

She grinned and drew him down for another kiss. "It better be."


	7. Chapter 7

Amanda wanted to do one more treatment before their trip, and Bucky was practically cheerful when he came down for it. Netiri looked very amused.

It went well, as had the others. This time his brain activity didn't change until the eighth word, another clear sign of progress. Bucky drifted off as usual and she and Netiri worked to take the electrodes off and hook up the O2.

"A break will likely be good," Netiri commented. "We can be sure that the rerouting is sticking and not a temporary work around."

That was a good point and one she hadn't thought of before. "I'll feel a little less guilty, then."

"We are fond of a life in balance here," she replied. "You Americans work way too hard. Vacations are good things. For everyone."

"I admit I never thought I'd be looking forward to a safari. But it's been a very long time since I had nothing to do and nothing to worry about." She tucked the EEG cords up and stroked an idle hand down Bucky's arm. "And good company."

In his sleep, his hand turned towards hers. It was innocent, and unconscious, but it touched her anyway.

"I hope you have a wonderful time," Netiri said.

"Thank you." She curled her hand around his and sat to wait for him to wake up. "I think it'll be good for us both."

"Neither of you get enough sunlight."

Amanda laughed. "I'll have you know this is the tannest I've been since I was a child."

She laughed and shook her head. "I can't tell the difference from when you came here." She gathered up the readouts from the EEG. "I'll take these upstairs and call Captain Rogers to let him know he's done."

"Thank you, Netiri. I'll see you when we get back."

Bucky came away, his hand tightening on hers. He opened his eyes and said, "'Manda."

No one had called her that in a very long time. It made her chest tighten and her heart lurch. But she smiled and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. "Hello."

He smiled. "You're a nice sight to wake up to."

"Just think, you'll get to do it every morning for the next two weeks."

The smile became a real grin, the kind he never seemed to aim at anyone else. "That sounds perfect."

They left the next morning, in a Jeep driven by one of the Wakandan guards. Amanda packed all her new clothes, hoping they wouldn't get too dirty camping. They seemed the most likely to handle the weather. Lani gave her a little pep talk about listening to her gut and taking it at her pace. Sharon gave her one of her fancy cameras with orders to get pictures of anything awesome she saw.

It was a long drive. They left civilization after the second hour and it was just wild savannah surrounding them, with patches of trees and jungle in the distance.

The camp had been set up for them by the time they arrived, you could see it from some distance. She understood what Bucky had meant about nice tents. There were several, square and on tall poles, sides rolled up to let in fresh air. There was actual furniture—portable, but furniture. 

Their guide, a cheerful, white-haired and rotund man named Danala, met their jeep. "I trust your ride was not too bumpy," he said as a couple of teenagers appeared from somewhere and began unloading their luggage.

"It was very pleasant," Amanda said. Small talk wasn't Bucky's strong suit. "We really are in the middle of nowhere."

Danala held his arm out towards the savannah. "We have some of the most diverse wildlife preserves in the world," he replied. "The lack of poaching helps with that."

"I'm looking forward to seeing it. A friend lent me her camera."

He grinned, showing off very white teeth. "I'll make sure we find you some good shots." He waved a hand. "Come, come. I'll show you the tent. And we have some refreshments waiting for you."

They started towards the tent, and Bucky reached out and took her hand. "See?"

"It's a very nice tent," she told him. "And it's beautiful out here."

"They promised me it would be just like being at a nice hotel. Only in a tent." 

"Since I'm fairly sure neither of us has ever been in a really nice hotel, it's probably a moot point."

That made him laugh. "Well, there was a luxury spa in Bavaria that the Army Medical Corps had taken over. Us and the Commandos spent the night in a couple unused rooms. They were really nice. No turn down service, though."

She smiled and gave his hand a little squeeze. "I'm looking forward to hearing more war stories."

"We slept in a barn once. Smelled like hay and horse shit."

"Even the unromantic ones," she insisted. He grinned and tugged her close enough for a fast kiss.

Refreshments were served at the cold fire pit outside the circle of tents. They had set up a few shade umbrellas in deference for their pasty selves.

"Steve made me list of animals to look for. Like literally a printed list."

His look of exasperated affection made her laugh. "He does like to plan, doesn't he?"

"He means well."

"He does." She poked at her salad a little, then leaned back into the plump cushions. "When we get back I'm going to sit down with him and Lani and start working on my issue with him."

"That's good. There are too few of us for us not to comfortable around each other. And particularly if you and I becomes. . .something."

The careful way he said that was kind of endearing. "I think we're well on our way to something."

"Unless two weeks together makes us hate each other, of course."

"Oh, of course."

They spent the rest of the day learning the lay of the land at their campsite. Dinner was served at the fire pit, a stew full of rich, exotic spices with crunchy bread to dunk in it. Danala told them about the trip they'd take tomorrow, out to the heart of the reserve. It sounded like they'd check off quite a few of Steve's list.

When they went back to their tent they found the flaps folded down to keep the desert chill at bay. With the walls down it seemed even more like a luxury hotel, with a low bed covered in thick blankets and fluffy pillows. There was a screen in the corner hiding a basin and pitcher of water for freshening up and privacy changing. The outhouse was in a separate building a few steps away.

The first time they'd slept next to each other had been an accident. This felt very deliberate. Both foreign and completely natural.

"I've been thinking," he said to her in the darkness. "I want a new arm."

Shifting onto her side to look at him, she tried not to sound too doctory when she replied. "There's a fairly extensive medical engineering department. I know the guy who manages the prosthetics team. I know he'd be very excited to help you."

"For a while I didn't want one. It made me feel less dangerous. Like if I got set off again, it would be harder for me to hurt people with only one arm."

That thought process didn't surprise her at all. "And now?"

"I don't feel dangerous. If you trust me, that must mean I'm okay."

Reaching out, she found his hand under the covers. "I'll introduce you when we get back." He wove his fingers with her and squeezed her hand gently.

*

When Bucky woke in the morning they were still holding hands. He found this platonic sleeping pretty beneficial. That night was the longest amount of time he'd slept in a long time. Her sheepish smile when she woke up a few minutes later made him think the same was true for her.

They ate breakfast and went out on safari with Danala. Amanda brought Sharon's camera and got shots of a herd of wildebeests drinking and grazing by a watering hole as well as a rhino meandering towards the same hole. Thanks to the zoom lens they were able to watch a lion and several lionesses drowse on a collection of rocks. Bucky kind of wished they could get closer to the cats, but Danala warned him it would stress the animals too much.

On the way back they got pretty close to an elephant and calf, who were apparently used to the rangers’ trucks and stopped to watch them pass. Amanda probably filled a whole memory card with just them, and he found himself watching the smile on her face as much as the animals.

Over dinner Danala ate with them again and told them old Wakandan and Kenyan legends about the animals. Amanda hung on every word and later in their tent, he got to enjoy a comparative religion lecture about the stories they'd heard and ones from other cultures. He still found her doctor voice kind of hot.

In bed, in the dark, they kissed sleepy and slow. She was warm and supple against him and he loved the soft sounds she made as much as he did her doctor voice. It had been a long day in the sun and she fell asleep before he did. But he enjoyed laying there with her tucked at his side and the soft tickle of her breath on his chest.

The next day Danala directed them to a swimming hole on the property, a short ten minute walk from the tents. Bucky hadn't been much of a swimmer in his best of days, but he enjoyed sitting at the edge of the water and watching Amanda float. Her bathing suit was staid and boring, a black speedo that covered most of her torso. But he could watch the bunch and stretch of her muscles and the way water dripped off her when she surfaced. She had scars, on her arms and legs. Some were old, but some were almost certainly from Hydra. The sight of them made him angry and sad and protective all at once.

They stayed till well after lunch before walking back to the tents. They ate fruit and sandwiches and sherbet outside their tent and listened to birds call in the distance. Amanda had packed a bunch of books and there were some that appeared to live at the tents. So they wiled away the afternoon reading, silently, then out loud to each other when they got to interesting or funny passages.

He noticed her moving stiffly after dinner and when he arched a brow she sighed. "I think I got a little sunburnt on my back."

"Turn," he said. "Let me see."

She sighed again and did so. The sundress she was wearing didn't show a lot of her back, but the part he could see was deep lobster red. He stepped closer and touched it. She flinched and the skin turned yellow, then immediately back to red.

"Ouch," he murmured.

"Yeah." She turned back to face him and looked almost surprised at how close he was. "I have some lotion with aloe in it but. . . hard to reach."

He cleared his throat. "I, um, I would be happy to put that on. If that's okay." 

The blush on her cheeks had nothing to do with the sunburn, he was sure. "That would be helpful, yes." She ran a hand down her dress. "I have something that will give you a little more, uh, access. Hang on."

She ducked behind the privacy screen and he busied himself untying the flaps of the tent to for the night. He missed her coming out, but heard her climb on the bed. When he turned around she was settled on her stomach, in a thin cotton shirt that tied at the neck and left most of her back bare. There was a big bottle of lotion on the floor next to her.

He sat down on the bed next to her. "I suppose this is the tropical sun," he said, dumping lotion onto his hand.

"I should have known better," she replied, voice a little muffled. "We're practically on the equator."

He didn't have two hands to rub together to spread it out, so he just turned his hand over and began spreading it out. "Do you usually tan easy?"

"I did when I was younger. Haven't really been in the sun much recently." She turned her head to look at him, resting her cheek on her folded arms. "I guess you can't burn or tan, can you? With the serum in you."

"Not that I've noticed. Not that I've spent a lot of time in the sun. I don't think Steve tans."

"Your skin doesn't damage, so no burning." She smiled. "Lucky you."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I don't want you to hurt." When he said it, somehow it encompassed so much more than the sunburn.

"It happens," she said and she was also clearly talking about more than the burn. "I know you'd protect me if you could."

"I could have if my brain had worked."

She was quiet a moment and he kept spreading the lotion around, trying to get every inch of skin. "I used to think, sometimes," she said quietly. "I had these elaborate plans to escape. To take you with me if I could. Most of them involved me developing some action movie skills I do not possess. I knew I had no chance but. . . I wanted to do it." She pushed up on her elbow to turn and talk to him. "We can't blame ourselves for not doing the impossible. What was done to us was _done to us_. We're victims. Survivors."

He watched her, hand still moving slowly. "I like the second word better than the first."

"Me too." She studied his face a moment. Then she reached out and caught the back of his head, drawing him in for a kiss. He groaned, tugging her gently until she sat up so they could kiss properly. This one wasn't particularly chaste.

She cupped his face in her hands and he locked his arm around her waist, holding her to him. Her skin was hot under his hand, slick from the lotion. He tried not to press too hard, not wanting to hurt her. But based on the way she was kissing him, pain was the last thing on her mind.

His heart just about stopped when she released him and untied the knot behind her neck that held her shirt up. He stared at her. Her breasts were absolutely perfect, and he hesitantly reached out to touch her.

She shivered a little when his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin. "Is this. . . is this okay?" she whispered. "If it's too fast for you-"

"No!" That probably came out too abruptly. He repeated it more gently, "No. This is. . . perfect."

Smiling, she bent close and kissed him lightly. "Good. You can touch me however you like."

He rubbed his thumb across her nipple. "Your back is burned."

"The aloe helped. And touching like this releases hormones like oxytocin and dopamine which help with pain relief." She curled her fingers around his wrist and stroked his arm. "And it decreases the stress hormone cortisol."

Her touch was addictive. "I want you to feel good."

"You make me feel good," she assured him. "You have since that first night we fell asleep together." He stroked her nipple again and it tightened. Her lids fluttered. "This feels good. I thought I'd be nervous. First time with my shirt off in years," she smiled. "But I feel safe."

"I'll take care of you. Best I can with one arm, anyway."

"I trust you," she said firmly. She met his gaze a moment, then leaned in to kiss him again. He let her hold on, so he could explore her with his hand. He traced her breasts, the soft skin of her belly, the bumps of her ribs. He wanted to know everything about her, by sight and touch.

The sounds she made grew in frequency and urgency. Eventually she lifted her mouth from his long enough to whisper, "Can I take your shirt off?"

"It's not nearly as nice to look at as you," he told her, but he lifted his arm.

She tugged it up and off, tossing it to the end of the bed. Her fingers trailed down his arm and chest. "It's pretty nice," she said softly, sounding shy.

He smiled and kissed her. "Well, the one half."

"Better than nothing." Her hands mapped him, the way his had hers. They settled back on the bed, kissing and touching bare skin. She touched the scars that marked the transition of flesh to metal with the same eager affection she touched the rest of him. The metal was attached to nerves and he still had sensation in some of it. A gentle touch there was utterly foreign and some how more arousing than anything else she'd done.

Temptation and need got the better of him and he broke their kiss to dip his head and nuzzle the soft skin of her breast. She gasped a little and her hands fluttered against him. He stilled, and swallowed. "Should I stop?"

"No," she breathed. "Don't stop. I'll tell you if I . . . need a break."

"Okay." He kissed her again, then shifted her so he could suck her nipple into his mouth, being careful of her burned skin. Her breath quickened and her fingers speared into his hair. Even then her hands were gentle, cupping the back of his head as he teased at her nipple. 

He was moving entirely on instinct, alternating his sucks with licks and blowing cool air on her damp skin. He switched to her other breast and gave it the same thorough attention. Her skin was flushed and she was moaning loud enough for someone to on the outside of the tent to overhear.

He pulled back to look at her again, fingers drifting down to the waistband of her shorts. "Can I. . .?"

Her eyes were glazed with pleasure and it seemed to take her a moment to process what he was asking. Her teeth caught at her lip and she nodded, firm enough he didn't feel the need to hesitate further. He slid his hand beneath it, down between her legs to cup her gently, waiting for her response.

She was wet and hot against his palm. A shudder went through her at the first touch and she closed her eyes. Then her hips lifted, pressing herself firmer against him. He bent one finger, tracing it along the seam of her sex, forward until he he found her clit. That earned him an actual moan.

This was another thing that seemed so familiar and so strange at the same time. Bucky Barnes had touched women like this. Made them come with his hands and mouth and cock. Seventy years and a lot of pain had faded those memories. But the feel and sound of her brought it back. Of course, he'd had two arms back then.

 He kissed her and sat up a little so he could watch her as he touched her. Her skin was flushed and damp and she arched and squirmed a little as he stroked her. Then he started to experiment with pace and pressure. Every woman had her own rhythm, and he wanted to memorize hers. He wanted them to do this often.

He knew he'd found it when he hands gripped fistfuls of the blankets beneath her and she moaned again. As he watched, he could see her relax into his touch, to let go of some of her walls. Quiet, desperate sounds bubbled out of her throat and she started to rock, hips lifting and falling, as he stroked her.

It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

A moment later she started to twitch against him and he felt her grow wetter as she gasped out his name and shook. He pulled his hand out so he could hold her, and whispered, "That's my girl."

Her arms wrapped around him and she pressed her face into the side of his neck, gasping as the last tremors shook her. For a few pounding beats of her heart they just held each other, hopelessly tangled.

He stroked her hair. "You okay?"

She nodded and shifted, pressing against him. One hand flattened on his belly. "Can I- Do you want me-?"

He stared at her hand. "Are there men who say don't?" It was the first thing his lust addled brain produced, so it was what came out of his mouth.

She laughed, sounding absolutely delighted. "I don't want to rush you," she told him, tugging the tie of his drawstring loose. She pushed the waistband down enough for his cock to spring free. She made a little appreciative noise that sent a surge of pride through him. Then she curled her fingers around him and stroked him. He groaned, and his head tipped back. He hadn't had a woman touch him like that in. . .70 years.

"Lay back," she whispered, nudging him onto his back. Propped up on her other arm, she pumped him lightly a moment. Then she released him a moment to dip her hand between her legs. When it wrapped around him again it was wet with her own fluids and moved easier. The sight and feel of it was almost too much.

He pushed up on his elbow and watched anyway. "Amanda. Please."

Her hand tightened and she bent her head to kiss his shoulder. Then she turned to rest her cheek on his chest, clearly watching as well. And that was the final straw. He arched up into her hand and let go, spilling over her hand and his stomach.

She stroked him through it before releasing him. With a gentle kiss, she got up and fetched a wet wash cloth from the basin behind the screen. She wiped of her hand, then returned to the bed to clean him up.

"I think that was better than most of the sex I've had," he murmured.

Laughing, she tossed the washcloth back in the direction of the screen and laid down next to him. "You're amazing."

He stroked her hair. "Just wait until I get a second arm."

She shivered and gave him a little squeeze. "I might not survive."

"It'll be a good death." He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this good.

"Mmm, probably." Reaching behind her, she tugged a blanket over them. He helped her settle it, kissing her hair. "I think I'm falling asleep," she mumbled.

"I've got you," he whispered. She murmured incoherently and cuddled closer. He felt her relax against him and her breath evened out. Both of them slept far better together than they ever had apart.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one more chapter left, posting probably midweek, then onto the next story!

Amanda woke up to warm air, a heartbeat under her ear, and a back that stung like hell. The last one was probably a worthwhile trade for the other two. 

Bucky stirred a little, arm tightening on her. She pressed a kiss to his chest and felt him sigh. "Good morning," she murmured.

"Morning." It was as much a rumble as a sound. 

"Wanna have a lazy day?"

He lifted his head. "Are there parts of this safari that are not lazy?"

She chuckled. "I just meant. . . deliberately lazy. Hang around the tent, read, nap. Make out."

"Under the pretenses of letting your sunburn heal?"

"It seems an excellent excuse."

He kissed her gently. "Sounds like a great idea. Want me to put more lotion on?"

"Mmm, that sounds like a great way to start the day."

Bucky shifted her so he could get up, and she watched him stand. He really was rather delightful to look at. A better looking man than she'd have gotten, long ago when she was hunting on her own. He made a little motion with his finger. "Roll over."

She stretched and rolled onto her stomach, pillowing her head on her arms. He poured out more lotion, and carefully spread it onto her skin, pausing to press a gentle kiss between her shoulder blades. She sighed, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with her sun burn.

Last night she had surprised herself, letting it go as far as it had. She was sure it would be weeks if not months before she was comfortable being naked with a man. But kissing him felt so right, so natural. He held and touched her like she was special and fragile. And he made her very happy.

"How about I go see if I can get us breakfast in bed?" he asked when he was done.

"You're a very good boyfriend," she told him.

He grinned. "Is that what I am?"

Twisting to look at him she asked, "Aren't you? I mean, I'm probably a decade too old for a boyfriend, but there's not really any other word-"

"No, no. I like it. I just thought that was one of those things modern people were too cool for."

"We are clearly. . . something. It's as good a word as any."

He kissed her temple. "I will go be a good boyfriend and get you breakfast."

"Then I will be a good girlfriend and wait here for you. Naked."

He grinned widely, and tripped over his own feet as he backed up. Lacking the the second arm he needed to balance himself, he fell on his ass—and laughed.

She covered her mouth, laughing herself. The doctor in her made her sit up and ask, "Are you all right?"

"Only thing bruised is my pride. And maybe my tailbone."

After a glance to check the tent flaps were still closed, she climbed out of bed and went to help him up. 

"Thank you. Sorry. Now I will go get breakfast."

"Hurry back," she told him, kissing him.

She could hear the camp staff moving around outside, and she settled back onto her bed. This was genuinely a vacation.

Bucky was back in ten minutes with a tray stuffed with cold breakfast foods. He brought it to the bed and climbed back in with her. They ate the fruit and pastries. They even fed each other on and off, which Amanda had always imagined would be awkward but Bucky managed to make adorable and sweet.

Some of the stickier food led to the licking and sucking of fingers. Which led to kissing. Which led to wandering hands and mouths. "We could do just this all day," he told her. "I wouldn’t mind."

She grinned and cuddled against him, pressing their bodies together. "I might get sore eventually. But it's worth trying."

"I'm very susceptible to challenges."

He did, it seemed, take it as a challenge. They barely left the bed. She lost count of her orgasms, and his. Whatever serum Hydra had given him had apparently had the side effect of giving him the stamina and rebound time of a romance novel hero. He fetched them food when they needed it and they napped in the heat of the day, too sweaty and lazy to muster up the energy.

Because of their naps they were awake late into the night, this time for rather pleasant reasons. Bucky lay curled around her back, hand stroking her breast distractedly as they listened to the call of distant animals. "I was thinking," she murmured, not wanting to break the spell.

"Mmm?"

"Maybe we should head back a little early."

She could feel him shift to look at her. "Early? Why?"

"We did this to get to know each other better and I think we have. Not just the sex," she added before he could say it. "But. . . I know what you like to eat for dinner and breakfast, and what you like to read. I'm comfortable with you. You're my boyfriend," she teased. "And I feel like there's stuff back home we both want to get to. Your new arm. I want to start getting comfortable with Steve. And. . . this is weird, but I kind of want the ladies to tease me and ask me questions and make dirty jokes. I know you were worried about an audience, but the other side of that is having friends to share our happiness with."

"Okay," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "Let's go home."

They left late the next morning. Danala drove them the long way, so they could see a few more animals. He radioed ahead and they were met at the edge of the preserve by a different Jeep so he didn't have to leave it. They said their goodbyes, expressed their gratitude and cuddled in the backseat on the way back to the capital.

He'd called it home. It was starting to feel like that, maybe for the first time.

They got in late and went right to her room, curling up together. Gentle murmurs turned to kisses and touching. She supposed eventually the teenage hormonal stage would wear off, but Amanda planned to enjoy every minute of it before then.  
 Breakfast was a chorus of surprised hellos and gentle teasing. They were both blushing and grinning like idiots, but it felt like family, like home.

When they were done eating she introduced Bucky to Zev, the head of the prosthetics unit, who’d come to Wakanda from Israel to work with their advanced robotics tech. He was as excited about the project as Amanda had thought he would be and she left him and Bucky discussing features and connection points.

She had no immediate work to do, she she strolled back up to the palace. On the way, she spotted Steve Rogers sitting in one of the gardens, sketching.

Lani had offered to facilitate the meeting. But Amanda was feeling remarkably brave and sure of herself this morning. So she straightened her shoulders and walked over to him.

He looked up at her and smiled. "Hi, Doc."

"Hi." She twisted her hands in front of herself, then sat on the edge of a planter, facing him. He was a nice man and he was Bucky's best friend. She needed to get on the other side of this. "It probably won't surprise you to know I have a rather raging case of PTSD."

He put his sketchbook down. "I hear that's going around."

"You. . . trigger me. It's nothing you've done," she said quickly. "And it's not personal. You have an air of authority to you. And men in authority hurt me, for a long time." She swallowed and rubbed her hands on her slacks. "I don't want to be afraid of you. You seem very nice. And Bucky and I are. . . close. Lani suggested I spend time with you. So that I can see you for yourself and not as Cap. But it didn't seem fair to do that without telling you. . . why."

He watched her a moment. "I know what it's like to feel powerless. To have people bigger than you hurt you and you can't defend yourself. I'm happy to help in any way I can."

She cleared her throat and managed a smile. "Bucky is meeting with a man about getting a new arm. He'll come back this way. I could get a book and we could. . . hang out here until he gets back. Then he can tell us at the same time."

"Sounds good. You mind if I draw?"

"Not at all. That sounds really harmless," she added with a little grin.

He smiled a little and nodded. She watched him slump in his chair, like he was deliberate arranging his body to be non-threatening. She jogged inside to grab the book she was reading, then returned to the courtyard. He was seated on a bench and she perched at the other end of it, feet up on a planter wall. He didn't glance over at her - very deliberately, she thought - and she focused on her book, forcing her neck and shoulders to relax. He didn't say anything at all, and the only sound was the rhythmic scratching of his pencil.

It wasn't a bad way to spend an hour. She had almost finished her book when they heard the clomp of Bucky's books on the path. They both looked up in time to find him turning the corner. He stopped when he saw them together. After a moment of surprise, he grinned. "This is nice."

"We're working on exposure therapy," Steve said. He looked over at her. "That's what it's called, isn't it?"

"Yes," she told him, smiling. "Steve is being very unthreatening and I am trying to relax."

"Is it working?" Bucky asked, a thread of real concern in his tone.

"I am measurably less anxious than I was when I sat. So, yes. I think so."

He pulled the page off his sketchbook and held it out to her. It was a drawing of the panther statue. "You seem fond of it."

Her hand shook a little when she reached for it, but it had nothing to do with fear of him. "Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," he said. "And now you've probably had enough of me." He stood. "I'll see you guys later." He clapped Bucky on the shoulder.

"Thanks," Bucky said softly, covering Steve's hand with his briefly. He nodded, and then he left. Bucky sat next to her. "He's a good guy."

"Yes, he is." She settled her head on his shoulder. "I talked to him. He can sympathize. I think it was a good first step." Reaching over, she touched the cloth covering his stump. "How did it go with Zev?"

"Good. They're working on making me a new arm that will look a little more like an arm."

"I suppose the metal was a little eye catching." She slid an arm around his back before adding, "And full of less than pleasant memories."

"They should be able to attach it to the existing stump, and hopefully wire everything together so I don't need another surgery. Which I really don't want."

She rubbed his back lightly, biting back the urge to offer to do it herself. Once upon a time she'd been an amazing surgeon. Still, like so much about him, she was as close to an expert as they had. "If I can help, let me know. I have some awareness of how your old one attached."

"Zev speaks highly of you, you could come to my next appointment."

"If you want, I'd be happy to."

"I feel like it might make me nervous. And you settle me."

"You settle me, too," she said softly. "It's why I wanted to be around Steve without you. I'm not as stressed when you're near. Didn't think it would help as much."

"Your subconscious apparently trusts me to take care of you."

"Clearly it does." She closed her eyes and sighed. "You make me feel safe."

After a moment he asked, "So, when do we finish de-hydra-ing me? I'd like to be sure it worked before they put an arm on me."

"We can do a session tomorrow. If the progress we've made hasn't degraded then I'd think only another two or three rounds should do it." Shifting to look at him, she added, "You know we'll need to try to actually trigger you to be sure."

He took a slow breath. She could tell he was uncomfortable. "I know."

"It's just a trigger," she reminded him softly. "It makes you comply. If it works, we'll just order you to do something harmless. Take a nap or something. Then it'll pass and we'll start again."

"Are you sure? I don't want to hurt anyone."

"We'll take precautions. Make sure Steve is there, anyone else you think would help if you did start to fight. But I think it's far safer than you're imagining."

"Okay," he said. He took a deep breath, and blew it out. "Okay."

She stroked his hair and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe."

*

Bucky did his treatment the next morning. It went the same as he remembered and when he woke up Amanda confirmed his progress remained steady. She had some work to do with Netiri so once he was up on his feet she kissed him goodbye and he hiked back up to the palace.

He found Steve and Clint in the dining hall, trying to coax some food into Nate the toddler. He was, apparently, feeling picky. Nate looked up, waving enthusiastically. "Hi! Hi!" The kid was inordinately fond of Bucky. He couldn't figure out why.

"Hi," he offered, sinking into a chair next to Steve. "Eat your lunch."

Nate held out the offending piece of bread in offering.

"No, thank you," Bucky said, ignoring the other men's smirks. "I'll get my own."

"Eat!" He waved it frantically.

"Please just take it," Clint muttered from behind his hand.

With a sigh, Bucky grabbed the bread, made a show of taking a nibble, then handed it back to Nate. Who happily started chomping away at it.

"Thank you," Clint said.

"Small children don't make any sense," Steve said.

"Maybe he's worried about poison," Bucky said dryly. "And I'm his official taster."

"No, he'd have someone he didn't like taste his food," Clint said.

"True. Maybe you've just managed to raise a good sharer."

"It's cute when you three get all paternal and domestic." Sharon dropped into the only free chair at the table.

"Laura won't let me just give him what he asks for," Clint said. "Apparently toddlers do not make well rounded diet choices.”

"Toddler cannot live on cheese sticks alone," Sharon told him solemnly. "I have good news."

Now Clint looked at her. "Nat?"

She nodded. "I snuck some code into T'Challa's last public address. I've been scanning major papers ever since. Today there was a highly suspicious want ad in the Egypt Daily News."

He held out a hand. "Can I see it?"

She slid the paper over to him. "I think she's in Cairo."

He smiled when he read it. "Yeah, that's her all right. She needs somebody to come get her."

"Should I have someone from IS go? Or do you think it needs to be someone she knows?"

"I might be able to come up with a message that will get her to accept a stranger. Or maybe not. Safer if one of us goes."

Sharon held a fist out like she would Roshambo him.

"No," Steve said. "Clint goes. It's a Muslim country, it'll be easier to move around as a couple than two women alone."

That got a little huffy noise from Sharon, but she didn't argue. "I'll get you a plane."

Clint leaned over and lifted Nate out of his high chair. "I'm going to go talk to Laura. Let me know timing?"

Sharon nodded and he headed out. She reached across the table to steal one of Steve's chips. "How was treatment?" she asked Bucky.

"Good. My progress is steady and we're getting close to being done." He smiled at her. "Steve tell you about the arm?"

"He did. Very exciting. And he said it'll be more natural looking?"

"Less weapon, more medical device."

She smiled softly at him. "It's good. A new chapter in your life."

"I have to admit," Steve said. "I never imagined this adventure would net you a girlfriend."

He looked down and smiled a little. "Life is very surprising. Occasionally for the better."

"She seems. . . much lighter," Sharon commented. "I was worried about her when I first brought her here. I'm not anymore."

"We settle each other. Walked through hell, came out on the other side. Company's nice."

"It's very romantic, in a weird way." Sharon reached over and slid her hand into Steve's. "Like fate."

They were adorable. He was glad Steve was happy, too. He deserved it more than Bucky felt he did—not that he was going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He watched Sharon get up to go get lunch. "We do have a nice little family here, don't we?"

"We do," Steve agreed, smiling that shy, almost awkward smile of his. "Something I never thought I'd have."

"Worth ruining your life for?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Got a new one, a different one. Different, but good."

Some of the guilt he'd been carrying melted, then. Maybe some of it, somehow, had been for good. "Well, this is a vast upgrade for me."

"You don't miss your mattress on the floor and newspapers on the window?"

Bucky chuckled. "I really don't. Also, I don't miss being alone. It was. . . so lonely."

Steve nodded, clearly understanding completely. "Right after I woke up from the ice I had no one and nothing. I would ride the subway sometimes, just for something to do. My apartment was nicer. . . but it wasn't any more of a home." He glanced up at the ceiling. "This place feels like home."

"Halfway around the fuckin' world."

"Certainly not how I thought I'd spend my retirement years."


	9. Chapter 9

It took two more sessions before Bucky's brain stopped reacting to the trigger words as it had in the past. This development required a meeting with T'Challa, his head of security, Steve, Bucky, Netiri, and Amanda.

"You're sure?" Steve asked. "The triggers are gone?"

"The only way to be sure is to attempt to trigger him," Amanda said. "But he no longer has anomalous brain activity when the words are said. The readings are indistinguishable from any other random words."

"How dangerous is that?" asked the head of security. Amanda honestly didn't know her name. She didn't introduce herself. She just just loomed in the background. All Amanda knew about her was that she commanded the Dora Milaje and that she once beat Steve in a foot race.

She folded her hands on the table in front of her. "In my opinion, minimal. The trigger phrase we've been working on is a compliance trigger. It was used before giving mission orders. The Winter Soldier is not inherently violent, he's a weapon. A gun is only dangerous when loaded and aimed. I would suggest that, if the trigger does work, we simply order him to return to his room and nap. He'll wake up normal again."

"I'm willing to do it," Bucky said. "I _want_ to do it."

The security chief didn't look entirely convinced, but she glanced at T'Challa, clearly waiting for his lead. He was watching Bucky thoughtfully, then turned his gaze to Amanda. "You're confident?"

She nodded. "The science says the trigger is not working. I trust it."

He looked at Netiri, who also gave him a nod. "The results are clear."

"All right," he said quietly. "I think many of us would feel better if you were restrained in some way, and I'd like Captain Rogers to be present. But any other security or guards can be kept out of the room as back up, rather than a presence." His security chief stirred a little and he glanced at her. "It is, at the end of the day, a medical procedure. I don't believe any of us would like armed guards looming while we were having an invasive procedure."

"Very well," he said. "Set it up."

Amanda and Netiri had a few small debates while planning the experiment. Netiri thought it was worthwhile to have Bucky strapped to the EEG while being triggered, to make sure the brain activity was still normal. While there might have been some rationality to that, Amanda wanted this to be as relaxing and normal for him as possible. And despite how many treatments they'd done, the electrodes were still uncomfortably similar to the things Hydra strapped him into. In the end, she won, and they compromised on a blood pressure cuff and pulse monitor.

There was also the matter of who would stay the words. Amanda felt having Clint or Steve do it would be more of a test, as his handlers had always been men. Netiri argued that Amanda had been saying them during the treatments, so it made more sense for her to do it. The decision was taken out of their hands when Clint went to go retrieve Natasha Romanov from Cairo and Steve proved to have an even worse accent than Amanda.

"Let's get this show on the road," Bucky muttered as he sat to be hooked up.

Amanda rubbed his arm lightly and hooked up the blood pressure cuff as Netiri fastened the arm restraint. Steve hung at the wall near the door, doing his best to look relaxed. Amanda made a point of ignoring him, as adding to her anxiety wouldn't do anyone any favors.

"All right," she said softly once everything was set up. At his point, she didn't need the book, she had the words memorized. " _Zhelaniye. Rzhavyy._

He looked at her and nodded encouragingly. She managed a little smile and kept going, translating in her head instinctively. _Daybreak, furnace, nine._ She wondered, sometimes, who had thought of these triggers. Had they had a plan? A theme? Or was it simply the first ten words he thought of.

" _Odin. Gruzovoy vagon._ " The whole room seemed to hold its breath as she finished. Bucky hadn't reacted, so she prompted, " _Soldat?_ "

He looked up at her, and his jaw clenched. Their eyes met and she knew, she _knew_ it was still him. Then he opened his mouth and said, " _Ya lyublyu tebya._

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Then her breath left her in a rush and she stepped closer. She unhooked his arm restraint and then cupped his face and kissed him. 

He wrapped his arm around her. "I love you. In case you missed that."

"No, I caught that." She kissed him again. "I love you, too," she said softly.

"Thank you. Thank you so much."

She wrapped her arms around him and he rocked her a moment. Someone coughed politely and she remembered they had an audience. She promptly hid her face in his shoulder and he chuckled, kissing her hair.

"I'm cured," he said. "You can all go home."

"It looks like you two are the ones that should go home," Netiri teased and Amanda heard Steve snort a little.

"That sounds like the best idea I ever heard." He put his head near her ear. "What do you say, Doc?"

"I think that's a fantastic idea."

"Get up now or I'll carry you," he whispered.

She cleared her throat and carefully climbed off the chair he was in. Much as she might have enjoyed being slung over his shoulder in other circumstances, she still had a small sliver of dignity to maintain.

"I'm exhausted," Bucky announced. "I think going and resting like I usually do after treatments is a good idea."

Judging by the expressions on Steve and Netiri's faces, she didn't think anyone believed that. But they both nodded. Bucky kept hold of her hand as they walked to the door, but Steve stopped him long enough to wrap an arm around him and hold him tight.

"Good to have you back, man."

"Thank you for saving me," he replied.

"I owed you one." He looked uncertainly at Amanda.

Maybe it was the happy hormones, or the anticipation of where she and Bucky were headed, but she smiled and held her arms out. "Today, you can hug me."

Steve grinned at her, looking inordinately pleased. When he hugged her, he held her like she was made of glass.

She rubbed his back and patted him when she was done. He was still grinning when he stepped back. Clearly, she'd made his day in a number of ways. "Thank you for trusting me," she said quietly.

"Thank you for being really damn good at your job."

She felt her cheeks heat at the compliment. Bucky grinned and kissed her cheek before giving her a little tug towards the door. "We'll talk later," he called out to Steve over his shoulder.

Amanda laughed. "You're not even subtle."

"I'll tie a sock on the doorknob if it will get us some private time."

"Yours or mine?"

He tipped his head back. "I think mine is technically closer."

"Sounds good." She giggled as he tugged her along the path to the palace. 

They held hands the entire way, neither of them saying anything, all the way to to his rooms. He pulled her inside, closed the door, and pushed her up against it. She had just enough time to gasp in surprise before his mouth came down on hers. Melting into him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, holding him to her.

He slid his hand down her thigh and tugged it up. "I want you."

She cupped his face, kissing him. "I want you." His hand squeezed her thigh and she shuddered, nipping at his lip.

"Everything?" he whispered.

They hadn't moved past third base, hadn't really talked about doing so. She imagined he, at least, had been waiting for this. For the assurance he wasn't dangerous, that his mind was his own. She felt a flutter of nerves, but she kissed him again and nodded. "Everything."

"I can carry you," he told her. "But it won't be that romantic."

She laughed. "We can walk." He released her leg and pulled her off the door. They stumbled towards his bed, tugging shirts off and kicking off their shoes.

When then reached the bed he sat on it, looking up at her. "Buttons. . . not really my friend."

Wakandan clothes were full of buttons. Amanda undid the two at the side of her pants and let them fall, puddling on the ground in a colorful pile of linen. She still wore panties, but she reached down to undo his fly before putting a knee on the bed and straddling his lap. He groaned, plunging his hand into her hair to bring her down for another kiss.

For a few minutes they just kissed, intense and explicit. His hand flattened on her back, holding her close to him. His kisses trailed down her jaw, and throat. Then he pressed hard on the small of her back, making her arch so he could take one nipple into his mouth. Amanda shuddered, legs squeezing around his hips. He traced the edge of her panties and snapped the elastic. "Take these off."

She squeaked a little, at his tone and the snap. Going up on her knees, she shoved them down, then stood long enough to get them off.

His eyes took a slow tour of her, and she felt it almost like a touch. Then he stood so he could kick off his own pants.

He really was incredible. Scarred, yes, but lean and muscled and perfect as well. She still wondered, deep in her mind, how on earth he was interested in her.

She wasn't sure which of them moved first, but they were kissing again, his hand on her ass and his erection pressed against her stomach. She moaned softly into his mouth as he sat on the edge of the bed, kissing her breasts and her stomach. His hand stroked between her thighs as if testing how ready she was.

She was already beyond ready, so she propped her knees on either side of him and curled a hand around his cock, guiding him towards her entrance. He watched and she sank down and took him inside her, until his eyes drifted closed, and he took a few slow breaths. He opened them again as she bottomed out. "God, you are gorgeous," he told her.

Kissing him lightly, she whispered, "So are you."

He trailed his fingers down her spine. "And I have never felt this way about anyone."

"Me neither." And she didn't even have the amnesia excuse. She kissed him again, beginning to rock on him, slowly up and down. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied, hand squeezing her thigh. "Especially if you're going to do that." She chuckled a little breathlessly and closed her eyes, rocking harder. It felt incredibly good, tight and deep. She'd missed sex. Missed being close to someone this way. Trusting someone this way. He moved his hand slowly up her body, cupping one of her breasts and absently rubbing his thumb over her nipple.

He let her set the pace and the build up was slow and steady. His hand touched her, teased her, until she was breathing hard. Heat and pleasure started to tighten in her belly. It peaked and crested and she drove herself down, taking him as far as she could as she rode it out. He growled and bucked up hard enough she had to hold on to his shoulders, before she felt him follow her.

As it passed, he slumped back on the bed and she went with him, face tucked into his shoulder. "That was worth the wait," he murmured.

"Mmmhmm," she agreed. Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, she added, "And it was only the beginning."

*

"Okay, this receptor connects to the radial nerve so I need that wire. . ."

Amanda and Zev had been attaching Bucky's new arm for about forty minutes now. He was glad she'd talked him into bringing a book because this would have been absolutely interminable.

When they'd started she'd been narrating everything they were doing, keeping her old promise to always explain his procedures. But once they got into the nitty gritty of connecting the new arm to his old anchors it got a little technical - not to mention a riot of odd sensations - so he'd looked away and focused on his book while they worked. It was just as well, it was hard - if not impossible - for Zev to communicate while doing something with his hands. He was deaf and he had a nifty pair of glasses that apparently put up real time subtitles for him when people talked. To communicate, he signed and somehow the glasses "watched" his hands and translated for him, into whatever language the listener preferred. It was some damn high end tech and when he'd explained it, Bucky had understood why he'd come to work in Wakanda.

Still, it meant Amanda was doing a lot of the hands-on adjusting while Zev directed and double checked. It seemed like they were getting close to done, especially when he began to feel his arm. "My hand itches," he commented.

The other two jumped a little and Amanda looked over at him. "Really." She fidgeted one more thing and leaned back. "Can you wiggle your fingers?"

He looked down, and then his fingers moved, all but his pinky. More muttering and tinkering followed. He went back to his book.

Another twenty minutes and they leaned back. "Okay," Zev said in the stilted, vaguely robotic voice his glasses used. "Try again."

This time all five fingers wiggled. Amanda and Zev looked pleased.

"All right," she said brusquely. "Look away and we're going to so some tests to see how fine your sensation is."

"It's better than the old one, I can already tell."

They handed him a series of objects and had them say if it was soft or hard, rough or fuzzy. Even hot or cold, which the previous arm hadn't been able to do. He obviously passed because Amanda told him to turn back and slid her hand into his new one.

He squeezed her hand gently. "Hi."

"Hi," she said softly. "How's it feel?"

"Pretty real. It's been so long, I don't really remember what the original looked or felt like, but this is worlds better than the metal one."

She looked at Zev. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he said with a grin. "It was a fun project." He made a little shooing motion, hen signed properly, "You should go show it off."

He looked down at it. The surface was some sort of soft material. Silicone, he thought, or some sort of specialty plastic. "I can wear a shirt over this, can't I?"

"Of course. For the most part it should react just like skin."

"Fabric would get stuck in the plates," he explained. "I had to cut the sleeves off of things a lot."

"Which was a hell of a look," Amanda said lightly. "You might get a little bit of sticking to the plastic while it's new, but nothing that will damage the fabric."

"You said you wanted it more natural looking," Zev added.

"I did. You guys did a really good job." He turned his hand over to look at it, and blinked in surprise. "I have fingerprints."

"It was a little uncanny valley without them," Zev explained. "They match your other hand exactly. Palm print, too."

"Do they actually match in nature?"

"They're usually a little different, but I didn't want to get creative and accidentally give you someone else's prints. So I played it safe."

"Thank you," he said. "Both of you."

"You're welcome," Zev said. "Let me know if there's any problems."

"We will," Amanda promised. Then she took Bucky's hand again and tugged him towards the door.

"I feel like I want to go do something. Test its strength."

"You wanna arm wrestle Steve? Or one of the Dora Milaje?"

He grinned at her. "More like. . . wrestling you."

Her cheeks pinked but she smiled. "Oh. Well. I could be convinced."

He pulled her closer—using his new arm—and leaned down to kiss her. "Many new options just opened up, you know. I could lift you up against the wall."

She shivered and ran her hands along his arms to flatten on his chest. "You have my undivided attention."

"Hey! You got your arm!" Steve had fabulous timing.

Amanda muttered something that sounded like, "Patriotic cock block," which made Bucky snort in laughter. He changed it to a grin when he turned to face Steve.

"I did." He waggled his fingers at him. "Wanna arm wrestle?" Amanda thumped her forehead into his other arm.

"We need a table," Steve said. "To do it properly."

Which was how they found themselves in the dining hall, arm wrestling. It gathered a bit of a crowd, which he found amusing. Sam Wilson appeared to be taking bets.

In the end, it wasn't even a contest. The arm looked realistic, but the frame beneath the skin was vibranium. Steve was laughing, rubbing his arm while Sam called him old man and someone ran to get ice.

Amanda leaned over Bucky's back and wound her arms around his neck. "That was really hot," she whispered in his ear.

"Sorry for the delay," he replied to her. He turned to tell Steve he was taking his woman to bed—he'd have dug up a polite euphemism—when Sharon appeared in the doorway. 

"Hey," she said. "I just got word, Nat and Clint are safely on the jet and will be landing in about an hour."

Steve grinned wider than Bucky had seen in a very long time. "Well. I'd say that calls for a party."

"Excellent," Bucky replied. "We'll be back in an hour."

He stood and scooped Amanda up, making her squeak. There was a round of applause, complete with whistles and cat calls as he carried her to the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Reconstruction_ will continue with T'Challa and Monica's story, _Masks_ , coming soon.


End file.
